


Mercury Falling

by spinner33



Series: CM - Close to Canon [43]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Casefile Fic, Coma, M/M, Major Reid Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-05 06:59:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 49,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5365724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spinner33/pseuds/spinner33
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hotch struggles find to the unsub who left Reid in a coma.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - My Sweet Prince and 1 - Unintended Consequences

_All human wisdom is summed up in two words; wait and hope. – Alexandre Dumas_  


Prologue – My Sweet Prince (Dec 19 – 1 p.m.)

 

Jack was holding Hotch’s hand tightly as they walked closer to the bed. Maybe this was a mistake, letting Jack see Reid like this. But the boy had been begging for weeks to be allowed to see Spencer. He had had only one brief glimpse of him in the last month, but that was all, nothing since then. Reid’s doctor had finally granted his permission. Hotch agreed to bring Jack to see Reid only because David Rossi threatened to bring Jack to the hospital if Hotch didn’t.

“He’s sleeping,” Hotch said, clearing his throat to make the lump fall.

Jack stared up at his father, then back at Reid on the hospital bed. Spencer was peaceful and unmoving. He was surrounded by machines – a heart monitor beeping insistently, a machine to monitor brain activity, a feeding tube, and an IV, among others. Spencer was breathing on his own. The ventilator was finally gone. There were increasing signs that he would be back to the world of the animated living soon. All Hotch and Jack could do was wait and hope.

Aaron had spent the drive here reiterating to Jack what a coma was, and then what a medically- induced coma was. They had had this conversation every time in the last month when Jack had asked how Spencer was doing, and when his papa would come home from the hospital.

Hotch had done his best to explain that even with all the things that medical science could do, so much depended on how the human body reacted to treatment.  
People wake up slowly from comas, a little each day, a movement here, a reaction there, a few seconds of consciousness that might go completely unnoticed, even if there was someone lurking by their bed day and night and day again. The nurses were carefully tracking Spencer’s increasing signs of consciousness. Hotch was watching. His surveillance detail was watching as well. Knowing the signs were stronger and more frequent gave Hotch great hope that this waking nightmare would be over soon.

Now that Hotch and Jack were here at the hospital, in the room, and Jack was staring at Reid with such a serious expression, Hotch was second-guessing himself. He wished he would have covered Reid more snuggly with the blankets. Spencer was much too thin. His bruises had faded, but his skin was a shade of pale usually reserved for vampires. Jack edged closer to the bed. Reid’s short hair was disturbing, startling. The boy zeroed in on it at once.

“He’s going to be mad at them for cutting his hair,” Jack observed.

“There is no way to get to your brain without cutting your hair off. Papa will understand,” Aaron added. Jack didn’t reply for several seconds. His small face was so serious.

“What did they do to his brain?” Jack asked.

“There was bleeding and bruising and swelling, but he’s going to be okay,” Hotch promised.

“Is he sleeping like Mommy was?” Jack worried.

“No,” Hotch quickly answered. “Papa isn’t dead. Remember what I said?”

Jack reached out and touched Reid’s nearest hand. Hotch put his hand over his son’s hand, and slid his small fingers to the pulse point on Reid’s wrist. Aaron pointed to the heart monitor.

“See? That one is recording his heartbeat,” Hotch explained. He was relieved by the immediate comprehension in Jack’s eyes. “Dr. Rhodes put Papa in a very deep sleep, so that he would have time to heal. The doctor brought Papa out, but Papa isn’t ready to wake up. He wants to sleep longer.”

“Is he tired?” 

“He must be.”

“It’s been a long time already,” Jack insisted.

“It has. I know. But the swelling inside his head has gone down, and the swelling along his spine is completely gone. His shoulder is healing very well. He’s reacting to outside stimuli. He’s exhibiting more frequent R.E.M. stages of sleep. The doctor says that’s the most positive indicator of all. Papa will wake up soon.”

“He won’t sleep through Christmas, will he?”

“If he does, we’ll have Christmas when he wakes up,” Hotch promised. Jack had been putting up a good front, but his bottom lip trembled, and his face fell. Aaron’s heart was breaking all over again.

“I want Papa to wake up now. I want him to read stories to me. I want him to play dinosaurs with me. I want to help him pack lunches, and make dinner, and feed Goody, and go for car rides for no reason,” Jack said as he slid his fingers up onto Reid’s forearm. Aaron was nervous for a second that Jack might yank out the IV needle that was buried in Reid’s hand, but instead, Jack caressed Spencer’s arm very carefully.

“I promise, Jack. Papa is going to wake up soon,” Hotch stumbled over the words, struggling to hold his emotions in check. He was surprised when Jack’s face bloomed with sudden inspiration. His whole person glowed.

“Maybe if you give Papa a magic kiss, he’ll wake up.”

“Jack….” Hotch answered tentatively. He didn’t want to say no, but he didn’t want to look like a fool either.

“It’s like the story Aunt Julie read to me,” Jack said, clutching anxiously at the mental connection, anything that might be a source of hope. “The story about the sleeping princess.”

When had Yulia Korsakova read ‘Sleeping Beauty’ to Hotch’s son? Well, she had been calling and Skypeing a lot recently in order to keep Mouse current on Reid’s condition. Perhaps during one of those sessions, she had been reading to Jack.

“An evil witch puts a spell on a beautiful princess. The princess pokes her finger with a poisoned needle, and falls asleep for many years, until a prince comes riding through the forest. He sees the sleeping princess, and he falls in love with her. He kisses the princess, and she wakes up,” Jack explained.

“Jack, magic isn’t real. Magic kisses doesn’t exist,” Hotch smiled sadly.

“What do you mean, magic isn’t real?” Jack asked, affronted by the very suggestion.

“That story isn’t real. It’s a fairy tale. Papa would probably tell you it’s an allegory. Besides that, I’m not a prince, and Papa is not a princess.”

“That doesn’t mean magic isn’t real. It doesn’t mean kiss magic won’t work. Have you tried it?” Jack retorted obstinately.

“No.”

“If you haven’t tried it, how do you know it won’t work?”

“Jack….”

“A magic kiss can undo any evil spell. It’s like when moms kiss ouchies better for you. Magic exists because love exists. That’s what Aunt Julie said. Love makes kiss magic work. It’s the special ingredient, like the herbs in stuffing!” Jack insisted. 

Hotch rubbed his son’s hair. He didn’t want to contradict his son, but Aaron couldn’t remember one single injury his mother had ever kissed better for him, and he really wasn’t very fond of stuffing, with or without herbs.

“Jack, this was not caused by an evil spell.”

“I know that,” Jack frowned. “I’m not an idiot.”

“A magic kiss isn’t going to fix this,” Hotch said plainly.

“Don’t you love Papa?” Jack demanded as his eyes welled up.

“Of course I love Papa,” Hotch whimpered. 

“Then you could at least try,” Jack sniffed. And oh, for a split second, how he sounded like Haley, and that was not a ghost that Aaron needed, not here and not now. There was no way Aaron could look in his son’s eyes and say no to his simple request.

Hotch leaned down over Reid, hoping Spencer would forgive him for this indignity. Aaron touched his lips lightly to Reid’s closed mouth. There was no response, only a continued quiet breathing. Hotch stood straight again, fearing the heart-breaking disappointment he expected to find on Jack’s face. Instead, he found that Jack was frowning at him.

“You didn’t kiss him hard enough. Do it again.” 

“Jack,” Hotch growled.

“Maybe kiss magic is like aspirin. You need more than one, and even then, it takes time to work,” Jack insisted firmly. He was watching Reid very closely. Someone behind them was struggling not to either laugh or cry. Hotch had asked Franklin to leave the room for a few minutes so Aaron and Jack could have privacy, so who was behind them?

“Hey, there,” Morgan called from the doorway. Hotch faced Morgan, grateful for the distraction, but suddenly mortified by the paranoid fear about how long Derek had been there without being noticed. Morgan cleared his throat and looked away, holding back a crooked grin. Yes, he had heard their conversation, and he had seen The Magic Kiss.

“Any change?” Morgan asked shyly, indicating the sleeping form on the bed. The team had been taking turns spending evenings with Spencer, reading his favorite books to him, or playing music for him, keeping him company a few hours at a time. This was Morgan’s night. It pained Derek too, seeing Reid lying there this way for so long. No one on the team was untouched.

“Not yet,” Hotch sighed, stifling a yawn. “What about on your end?”

"Nothing has changed. We’ve got our feelers out there, but there’s been no sign of him."

Hotch exhaled sadly. “What about Davies?”

“She won’t budge. I begged. I bargained. I threatened. She’s immoveable.”

Hotch muttered explicatives to himself. 

“Jack, why don’t you and I go have some adventures around the hospital?” Morgan tested. “We can give your dad a chance to catch a couple hours of sleep? Hm? He could use a nap, don’t you think?”

“No thanks, Uncle Morgan. I want to be here when Papa wakes up,” Jack protested, taking hold of Reid’s hand.

“If Papa wakes up, Daddy will let us know. Let’s go play, Jack,” Morgan persuaded.

“Are you going to sleep here?” Jack asked Hotch.

“Yes, right there,” Aaron nodded, pointing to the chair beside the bed.

“No pillow?” Jack worried. “You’ll get a crick in neck.”

“I’ll share Papa’s pillow,” Hotch smiled faintly.

“You should give him more kisses, like you mean it this time,” Jack stressed. “He probably didn’t even feel that first one. You have to think about how much you love him, and then you kiss him.”

Morgan hustled Jack from the room. Hotch nearly melted with exhaustion. He circled around the bed. He straightened the blinds on the windows that faced the cold outside. He tuned out the view of the nurses’ station out the window-wall on the front of the room. He was accustomed, if not comfortable, with the fact they were able to watch the goings-on inside Reid’s room. Hotch nudged the chair closer to Reid, and finally sat down.

How many times in the last month had Hotch slept in this chair, holding Reid’s hand, caressing his cheek, kissing his forehead, waiting for a sign? Kiss magic, indeed. If kiss magic actually worked, Reid would have been _bulletproof_ at this point, for all the unanswered kisses Aaron had given him over this last month!

Hotch snorted as he switched off the light behind the bed. He leaned against Reid’s pillow and lost track of time in the near-darkness. He listened to Reid’s steady breathing for hours, it seemed. It wasn’t hard to sleep sitting up, leaning over. He was getting used to that too. It was impossible to block out the insistent beeping of the heart monitor and other machines. But Hotch had grown to appreciate that as long as that heart monitor was making noise, there was still hope.

Someday soon, Reid would come back to them. It wouldn’t be long now, surely. 

Yesterday when Hotch had been reading to Spencer, he had glanced over the edge of the book to catch glassy hazel eyes watching him. Hotch shivered at the memory, because yesterday those eyes had been completely void of any recognition. There had been no sparkle, no warmth, no glimmer of mischief in them. They had been cold and unfeeling, reptilian. It had been scary as hell. Had he been annoying Spencer? Hotch had stared back wordlessly, afraid to move, afraid to breathe. He should have grasped Reid’s hand, spoken to him, said something, anything. But all Hotch could do yesterday was gape in shock. Seconds later, Spencer’s eyes had drifted closed once more.

Hotch jumped awake, not sure when he had fallen from thinking to sleeping. It was hard to shut his brain off, even when he was desperately tired. He had actually gotten a couple hours of rest, possibly more than he intended. It was already getting dark outside. It must be after 5 by now. He closed his eyes again with a heavy sigh. He decided that he and Jack would wait out rush-hour traffic, and then head home around 7.

Hotch nestled his face against Reid’s cheek, and drifted back to into a light sleep.

* * *

1- Unintended Consequences (Nov 20 – 11 a.m.)

 

“You’re absolutely sure of this?” Bernie Rabovsky asked, setting down the report that Dr. Reid had given her.

"I’ve been over it again and again, from every possible angle. It’s my professional opinion that these are not coded messages.”

“Then what are they?” Bernie asked.

“The messages are what they are – quotes from world literature novels and religious texts.”

“All right. These messages. If they aren’t in code, what is the sender trying to say to us? What does he want us to know?”

“The chosen works deal with several topics— guilt, sin, murder, lust, revenge, regret. The chosen passages, the highlighted words, the excerpts – they don’t spell out hidden messages so much as draw attention to the parts of these literary works that most touched the reader.”

“Why is he doing this?”

“I wish I knew,” Reid moaned. 

“But you’re sure it’s not a code?”

“I’m sure. I’ve gone over this. I was beginning to obsess about it too. Thinking about during the day, lying awake at night. Then it happened.”

“What happened?”

“I realized that I’m trying too hard to find a pattern or a code, and it was time to accept that there isn’t one. It is what it is. Random scenes, highlighted words, but no hidden messages.”

“Is there an overall theme?”

“Guilt and atonement. Another curious factor I picked up on is that many of the stories involve a ghost, but not all of them, so again, that may not be important. Ghosts are a popular element of fiction – they always have been.”

Rabovsky stared hard at Reid, moving the page around on her desk, rubbing the report with her fingertips.

“What does the ghost angle have to do with anything?”

“Nothing, really. I was thinking aloud more than anything.”

“What is he guilty of? What has he done? Why is he seeking atonement?”

“I don’t know. I wish I could tell you more. I wish I knew. I wish I understood. There might not be any logic to this, except to whoever is sending these messages.”

Bernie paused, took a breath, sat back in her chair. She rubbed the pen that was on the desktop, rolling it under her palm, to her fingertips, and back again, rocking her hands like gracefully boats. 

“I’ll talk to Ramon,” she decided finally. “I’m pulling the plug on this once and for all.”

“Please, if may I caution you? I believe Dr. Ramirez will react quite badly if you take this case away from him.”

“I don’t doubt he will. But it’s time to move on.”

“I’m afraid he’ll respond violently,” Reid whispered.

Bernie offered up a quick smile.

“I’ll tell him from a safe distance then.”

“Perhaps if you had Rockford with you. They’re friends. He might be a calming influence.”

“Reid, I’ll handle it.”

“I didn’t mean to imply you couldn’t.” 

“Of course not,” she frowned skeptically.

“I’ll be in my office, working on the Battersea transcripts,” Reid retreated shyly. 

“Thank you, Dr. Reid.”

“Yes, ma’am. You’re welcome.”

Reid withdrew from Rabovsky’s office, slinking quietly through the hallway, around the corner. He was too ashamed to look at Ramirez’s door as he passed Ramon’s office. If he had looked, he would have seen the narrowed eyes that were watching him with hatred and vengeance in mind.

Larsson’s office door was open, and her music was blaring again. Reid could hear the strains of a 90’s dance song echoing. It had a faintly Middle Eastern flavor to it. She had a very broad taste in music, and not all of it pleasant or congruous. She did not dance well, but what she lacked in skill, she made up for with enthusiasm. Pam was moving around her desk, around her chair, swaying to the music, singing softly.

“ ‘Let’s put an end to these long lonely nights, Things that were once wrong have turned out all right. If you ask me how I feel, my love is real. My love is for real’.”

Reid thought he might be able to edge past without being noticed, but Pam’s eyes shot open. She grinned, ran to the hallway, and snatched him inside her office. Pam put her arms around Reid, moving him with the music as she continued dancing. Reid played along, knowing that somehow in Larsson’s mind, the music helped channel her energy, helped her work through whatever kink the pages on her desk had tied in her thoughts. The song was on a loop – not a surprise. Larsson would often play one song continuously, to the point of driving her co-workers to madness and distraction.

Rockford’s door whipped open. He gawked at them, rolled his eyes, and slammed his door shut again. Bernie’s door opened. She crossed the hallway and tapped on Ramirez’s door. As she waited for an answer, she glanced up at Larsson and Reid, and gave a sideways smile. Ramirez took a long time answering his door. Reid wondered if Rabovsky was talking to Ramon in person because he wasn’t answering his phone. Ramon peered out, let Bernie inside, and stared hatefully down the hall at Reid and Larsson dancing around like idiots. His office door closed again with an inaudible click.

Larsson and Reid continued to dance around the paper-strewn desk, except Pam was now watching Reid more than she was actually dancing. He was swaying, rocking his hips, his mind falling back to a different time and place, similar music, Dr. Allison’s birthday party. How long ago that had been?!

“Look at you! You have been holding out on me, Reid!” Larsson shouted over the music.

A loud pounding on the office door brought Reid’s dancing to a halt. Larsson shut off the music and faced the portal. Spencer caught his breath and spun around. A stern, matronly woman was standing there, staring at them with every ounce of her disapproval worn across her sour face. One could not have missed the large golden cross standing out on her chest. Her stark white hair and unsmiling features conveyed every ounce of her inner annoyance. How dare you dance? How dare you have fun? How dare you breathe?

“Dance with us, Hilda,” Larsson beckoned. 

Reid stared at the floor, blushing brightly, heaving for breath. Hilda never failed to make him feel her distinct disapproval of him.

“I think not,” Hilda hissed, tapping a pencil on the clipboard she was carrying. “Pamela, could you please keep it down so I can hear my phone ringing? Spencer, I’ve been holding a call for you on line 4.”

With that, Hilda turned on one heel and headed away. She always referred to the members of Cryptology by their first names, as if they were children. It was her way to remind them of her age compared to theirs, and her self-perceived moral superiority over all of them. Larsson grimaced to Reid, and he grimaced back before running to his office.

Reid wondered where Agent Davies had gone. Her purse was hanging off the hall tree by the door, along with her jacket and Reid’s jacket. She couldn’t have gone far. Spencer landed in his chair and tentatively touched the phone button that was blinking red. The phone line opened, and simultaneously, the monitor resting on the left of the desk lit up with Aaron Hotchner’s face.

Hotch was glaring at the screen like an angry eagle.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, sir,” Reid intoned shyly, panting for breath. “What can I do for you?”

“Where the hell have you been?!”

“Um…” Reid gulped. As much as he wanted to tell Hotch the truth, this was not the time or place for absolute honesty.

“I’ve been on hold for five minutes!” Aaron shouted.

“I was with Bernie, talking about….. What can I….” 

"Did you finish the geographic profile?”

“Yes, sir. An hour ago. I sent it to JJ like she asked.”

“Reid.”

“Sir?”

“I don’t care what JJ tells you, send it to all of us, not just to her.”

“She was quite insistent,” Reid defended. He looked away and back again. Hotch read the deception in Reid’s face, but wasn’t sure to what it pertained.

“That explains why she bolted out of here so fucking fast,” Hotch growled to someone standing out of camera range.

“Mmm hmm, sure does,” Morgan growled from the background.

“Reid?” Hotch murmured. “Stay by the phone. I want to reach you when I need you. I don’t want to be kept waiting again.”

“Yes, sir,” Reid gulped, reaching for the red button again, giving the screen a guilty glance before it went blank. Hotch’s disapproving frown etched itself in Spencer’s brain, lingering there until he heard Davies’s footfalls pounding down the hall.

“Dr. Reid?! Come quick!”

From the frantic sound in her voice, Reid didn’t hesitate to respond. He was up out of his chair as she reached the door, dropped her files, and raced back.

There was screaming on the other side of the square hallway, and the unmistakable retort of gunfire. Larsson flew out of her office like an enraged Valkyrie, and raced towards Ramirez’s office with her weapon drawn, her hair flying. Reid went out the exit and back through the entrance, weapon at the ready. 

Hilda was hiding under her desk, screaming uncontrollably. Her phone crashed off the desk. Her fingers scrambled along the carpet and drew the receiver underneath by the long cord. She was dialing for help.

“BERNIE?!” Larsson screamed. She had her gun pointed into Ramon’s open office. “BERNIE?!”

“Put the gun down, Ramon,” Rabovsky breathed. “Please.”

“YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO ME! DON’T YOU HAVE ANY IDEA?!” Ramirez screamed back.

“Put the gun down, Ramon,” Bernie ordered again. She was breathing hard and irregularly.

Reid stepped to the wall, sliding along. Davies followed suit, weapon clutched to her right shoulder, face clenched tight. There was a frantic scrambling from inside Rockford’s office. The door swung open, and Reid almost fell on top of John as he exited with his gun ready too.

Rockford pushed past Reid and stood across the hallway next to Larsson, aiming his gun into Ramirez’s office.

“Ramon! Put down your weapon!” Rockford commanded.

“You don’t understand! None of you understand. You can’t do this to me. I can’t stop now. I‘m so close,” Ramirez whimpered. “Bernie? Bernie?”

“Son of a bitch, REID! Line of fire,” Rockford growled as Reid ducked around the corner and inside Ramirez’s office.

Bernie Rabovsky was sliding, leaving a streak of bright red down the wall. Reid was instantly beside her, helping her sit flat on the floor with her back to wall. Ramirez had crumbled beside his desk when his knees had buckled. He was trembling and shaking as the horrible realization of what he had done washed over him. Repentant tears streamed down his face.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Ramon panted. 

“We need a medic!” Reid called out, as if that wasn’t already plainly obvious.

“I didn’t mean to do it,” Ramon whimpered, letting Reid take his gun away. Spencer threw the gun backwards out the door. Rockford snatched it up. “I’m sorry, Bernie. I’m so sorry…” Ramon repeated over and over.

Reid held one hand over both bullet holes that was blown through the left side of Bernie’s chest. He could already feel that she had a collapsed lung. He could feel wetness and jagged bone as he pressed down to stem the flow of blood. He used his other hand to smooth her hair. Bernie struggled for words, a rivulet of bright red trickling down from her mouth. One of her pearl earrings had fallen to the ground. The golden loop was mangled, and the white orb was sprayed with drops of blood.

“Angie,” Bernie whispered. Her eyes were clouding over with pain and were focusing in confusion on a point past Reid’s shoulder, towards an empty space.

Larsson stormed past Rockford and around Davies. Pam grabbed Ramon, yanked him to his feet, and drug him bodily into the hallway, all the while shaking the man furiously. She wasn’t an overly large woman, but when she was angry, Pam Larsson had an amazing presence of person which made her seem ten foot tall and bulletproof.

“GODDAMN YOU! HOW COULD YOU DO THIS?!” Larsson shouted.

“I didn’t mean to do it,” Ramon repeated, sobbing.

The rest was a blur for Reid because he was focused on Rabovsky and her fading heartbeat. Larsson was shouting profanities at Ramirez, Rockford was pulling Pam off of Ramon. More agents came streaming into the office, from other departments nearby. They were shouting for everyone to drop their weapons.

“GET A MEDIC!” Reid shouted again, over Hilda sobbing loudly in the background.

Davies knelt down with Reid, yanked off her sweater, helping him put pressure on Bernie’s back, where the exit wounds were thumping blood steadily against the wall behind Bernie. Reid stayed down where he was, alternately holding Bernie’s hand and caressing her hair, holding pressure on her wounds, watching her chest rise and fall unevenly.

Reid begged Bernie, “Hang on. Try to stay conscious. What can I do?”

“Angie,” Bernie whispered again. 

She was staring at the space over his shoulder again, and it gave Spencer such a creepy feeling. She was seeing someone there. He knew it in his bones. It wasn’t uncommon, he knew, for those close to death to see visions of their departed loved ones. Sometimes they would even ask permission to die from those who had gone on before them. But who was Bernie seeing? Angie was her daughter, and Angie was alive.

Very quietly, with no more than a sigh, Bernie’s eyes rolled upward, and she was lost consciousness. Reid felt his own calm slipping. Her heartbeat was thready. Spaulding had appeared. She tugged Davies back, and tugged Reid back too so that the medics could tend to Rabovsky.


	2. Primary Investigator

2 - The Primary Investigator (Nov 20 – 3 p.m.)

“Dr. Reid? I’m SSA Frank Schultz.”

Reid shook himself out of his thoughts, gazing numbly at the young man who sat down in the chair across the table from him.

“I’m in charge of the investigation of SSA Rabovsky’s shooting,” Schultz explained gently.

Reid nodded. It was a procedure they had to go through, he knew, but what was there to investigate? Dr. Ramirez had shot Rabovsky because of what Reid had told her about the Anonymous Source case. This was Reid’s fault as much as Ramirez’s fault.

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting here so long. Sorry to put you through this. You’re not in trouble or anything,” Schultz went on.

Reid responded with a quiet nod. Being in trouble and feeling so guilty he could cry were two very different things.

“My team is talking to everyone separately. Rockford, Larsson, and Davies, that is. Rabovsky has been taken to the hospital. I don’t know her condition yet. Hilda had to be transported as well because she was having chest pains. The medics couldn’t find anything wrong with her, but they took her in anyway as a precaution.”

Reid nodded again. He stared at the table and longed for Hotch. Schultz continued.

“Davies was the first on scene. She entered the vestibule and heard shouting from Ramirez’s office. She’s not sure what precipitated the disagreement between Dr. Ramirez and SSA Rabovsky. I was hoping you could shed some light on the issue. You were the last person to talk to Rabovsky before she went into Dr. Ramirez’s office.”

“Have you reached Bernie’s husband yet?” Reid asked numbly.

“We’re working on it. He’s CIA. Overseas at the moment. It may take some time to find him, let alone bring him home.”

“Where’s Angie?” Reid asked.

“Dr. Lind, one of my team members, will pick Agent Rabovsky’s daughter up at school in Bethesda. With traffic this time of day, though, I suspect she will have to meet her at the house when the bus drops her off.”

Reid stared down at his red hands, rubbing them together, shivering. He had Bernie’s blood on his arms and chest, down one trouser leg. It wasn’t like Reid hadn’t been covered in blood before, but this time, it gave him such a tremor of premonition.

“Are you okay? Do you need anything?” Schultz asked.

“I’m fine,” Reid lied, shaking.

“Tell me what happened between Rabovsky and Ramirez,” Schultz pressed.

“Bernie pulled Ramon off his current case,” Spencer said simply.

“Why?” Schultz asked.

“The messages he’s been receiving are not a hidden code. They’re nothing more than the random ramblings of an unstable madman. Ramon couldn’t or wouldn’t see that.”

“Agent Rockford said Dr. Ramirez has been obsessed with this project for months now.”

“Yes,” Reid answered numbly.

“How do you know so much about it?”

“Bernie asked me to take a look at the messages too, under the table.”

“Did Ramirez know you had seen the details of his project?”

“He wasn’t supposed to know, but he must have suspected I was delving into it, yes. Monday morning, I could tell my office door had been opened. It must have been jimmied sometime over the weekend. Nothing was gone, but someone had searched my office very thoroughly.”

“How could you tell someone had been there? How do you know it was Dr. Ramirez?”

Reid snorted, staring up at the ceiling, biting his mouth closed.

“What?” Schultz asked.

“The peanut bar was moved.” 

“What?”

“Ramirez is allergic to peanuts. I always put an unwrapped peanut bar on the top of my desk when I leave for the night. You can’t open my file drawers without moving it. Monday morning, the peanut bar was gone.”

“It could have maintenance? Janitorial staff?”

Reid shook his head no.

“There were rubber gloves in the trash in the lunchroom, where the peanut bar had been discarded,” Reid said.

“Whoever moved it wore rubber gloves, and carried the peanut bar all the way to the lunchroom?” Schultz asked.

Reid nodded. Frank bounced his head in reply.

“None of your desk files were missing though?” he clarified.

“I always keep my current cases files with me,” Reid said, looking down at the light brown, leather satchel on the floor at his feet.

“May I see the files in question?” Schultz asked.

Reid bent down and drew the satchel into his lap, rooting around inside. He tossed a folder across the table to Schultz. As Schultz opened the folder, Reid retrieved a scented handy-wipe from into his pouch, then dropped the satchel back to the floor. He scrubbed roughly and thoroughly at his blood-stained hands.

“I can’t believe Ramirez shot Bernie over this,” Spencer whispered. “It’s all so pointless. But he couldn’t let go of this, you know? I had a feeling he might get violent if she pulled him off the case, but I mean, you don’t want to believe this kind of thing could happen. He didn’t have to shoot Bernie. There was no reason to hurt her. It’s so pointless. All so pointless. Bernie never hurt anyone. Why does violence always happen to people who least deserve it? Why can't it happen to the son of a bitch who cheats on his wife, or the guy who cuts you off in traffic?”

Schultz turned pages in the file, lifting his eyes to Reid before dropping them once more.

“I don’t know, Dr. Reid. I'm sorry about Agent Rabovsky though. Do you know, she spends every Saturday morning at the soup kitchen at the community center near where we live? Rachel and Madison and I went to donate food for the community Thanksgiving dinner that they serve, and there was Bernie and Angie. Every weekend, her car is there. You know what that means, don't you?”

"No," Reid said softly.

"The sweet potato casserole is gonna suck this year, because Bernie won't be there to make it. Hmph. Bet you Dr. Ramirez didn't think of that either. How many people are going to have a miserable Thanksgiving because of him?"

“Have you been able to reach Bernie’s sister?” Reid asked.

“I wasn’t aware Agent Rabovsky had any family other than her husband and her daughter Angie.”

“She has a sister Angie too,” Reid insisted. He paused, and sat back against his chair, blinking. “No. Wait. I….”

“What is it?” Schultz asked.

Reid's mouth hung open as a dreadful realization washed over him.

“What?” Schultz worried.

Reid took two deep breaths before he rose to his feet and turned away from Schultz.

“Dr. Reid? Are you all right?” Frank worried. 

" 'M fine," Reid lied miserably.

“I’ll look into where her sister Angie is. You’re free to leave if you want. Sorry to keep you so long.”

Reid snatched up his satchel and raced from the interrogation room, brushing tears off his face as he left.


	3. Fateful Morning

3 - Fateful Morning (Nov 21 – 6 a.m.)

Reid tossed and turned his way through an almost sleepless night, and the alarm woke him too early, too soon. It was a chilly morning, but the day would grow to be unseasonably warm for November (twenty degrees above normal since October – so much for those naysayers on the topic of global warming). Reid rolled out of bed and put his feet on the cold floor, and in the back of his mind, he finally understood the meaning of the expression ‘to feel like ten miles of bad road’. He sat on the side of the bed for a few moments, holding his aching head in his hands and staring at the floor.

Reid needed to get Jack up and get him to school for his last day before Thanksgiving Break. He waited to hear the coffee machine come to life in the kitchen, but then he remembered they were not at home yet. Renovations were still on-going at their own home, and they continued to live at the safe house that General Scott had provided. 

Reid needed to get up. He needed to remember to take out the turkey to thaw before taking Jack to school and taking himself to work. Though he wasn’t sure what work was going to consist of this morning, not after what had happened yesterday. In the shower under the hot water, Spencer closed his eyes and once again saw Bernie Rabovsky laid out on the floor of Dr. Ramirez’s office with the bloody holes that had been blown through her chest. He heard again that one quiet sigh she have given before passing out. He hoped there was good news on her condition this morning.

Reid wondered if SSA Schultz had been able to reach Major Rabovsky yet. Bernie couldn’t say where her husband had been stationed due to the nature of his work, but Reid knew that it must be somewhere in the Middle East, because Rabovsky was learning to cook strange and interesting and exotic dishes which she would bring into the office for lunch – like spiced lamb with apricots and raisins. He could remember the smell of the lunchroom, how the subtle and not-so-subtle spices had conjured distant sense memories of open-air markets and crowded, twisted alleys. Bernie was staying close to her husband by taking part in the pieces of his world that had filtered through even the most confidential of correspondence. Reid wondered if Bernie and her husband were like Tolkien and his wife had been – sending each other coded messages in their letters. She had been able to know his location at all times. Reid hoped that was true of Bernie and the Major as well.

As he fumbled for his clothes, Reid glanced at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, thinking it might be time for a haircut. His sandy tresses were long and bedraggled. He looked far too feminine. He was thankful for the distraction of his dark beard stubble shadowing his jaw and chin and cheeks. Reid gave half a smile. Maybe he could grow a beard instead of cutting his hair.

No, he sighed, staring down into the sink and reaching for his toothbrush. He needed to cut his hair. It was time. Although, he would miss having Aaron’s fingers caressing through it, tugging tenderly, curling strands around his forefinger as he nuzzled the curve of Reid’s neck or one of his earlobes. Reid hoped Hotch would be home soon from the case in Minnesota. He missed Aaron dreadfully. The house was so quiet, and their bed felt so empty without Aaron there.

The bathroom door was nudged open. Goody came bouncing in. The cat rubbed around Reid’s ankles, then leapt up onto the commode, dancing around, rubbing, purring. Reid opened the medicine cabinet and took out the cat brush he kept there for exactly this purpose. He sprayed leave-in conditioner on his own hair, gave a squirt in Goody’s general direction, and then combed the feline’s back and the top of his head. Goody rotated back and forth happily, unaware that he had a distinct crest of fur standing up on his skull. Reid bent down rub his nose on Goody’s nose.

“There you are. Such a handsome boy.”

Goody rubbed his head on Reid’s side, slipped off the commode, and trailed out of the bathroom.

Jack was dragging his butt this morning too. Reid was in the kitchen packing lunches when Little Hotch finally came lumbering down the stairs. Jack hauled himself and his backpack into the kitchen. He sat at the table, blinking bleakly at Reid as he walked back and forth, back and forth, between the counter and the fridge.

“Blueberry or banana?” Reid asked. Jack blinked at Spencer, who was holding up two small yogurt containers. “Blueberry or banana?” Reid asked again, smiling, waiting.

“Blue….berry,” Jack yawned in the middle of the word.

Reid smoothed the cowlick of hair on Jack’s crown. He finished stuffing a cold-cut sandwich and some carrot sticks into the lunch sack. The boy might have favored his mother’s family, but his hair had all the texture and the attitude of his father’s unruly locks. Reid pushed the cowlick down, but it bounced defiantly back into the air. No wonder Hotch always kept his bristly hair trimmed close. Jack probably would too as an adult.

“Meh,” Jack sighed, rubbing his eyes. 

“Toast? Waffles? Cereal?” Reid asked.

“Oatmeal? Do you feel well? Are you coming down with the flu?”

“No flu. Will Mouse come for Thanksgiving?” Jack asked, watching as Reid hefted the big turkey out of the fridge and put it delicately into the kitchen sink.

“I hope so,” Reid smiled. He washed his hands thoroughly before he gathered up a cereal bowl, filled it with oatmeal, added milk, and stuck it in the microwave.

“What about Granny and Grand-dad? Aunt Jess and Jerry and the cousins?” Jack wondered.

“I hope everyone shows up,” Reid wished, “or you and I are going to exhaust my limited repertoire of turkey recipes.”

“Rapper-twa? What does that mean?” Jack asked.

“Repertoire. It is French, from Late Latin. It means a collection of works, plays, operas, or songs which an artist or musician or theatre group performs. In the sense that I was using it, ‘repertoire’ means the meals I can cook which feature turkey as an ingredient.”

“Have you ever cooked one of those?” Jack asked after he processed what Reid had said.

“I used to cook small ones for my mom and me,” Reid said as his mind lingered over the memories in his head. “I make great stuffing. I hope they like me.”

“Why are you so nervous about meeting Granny and Grand-dad? They know all about you already,” Jack replied, pouring more milk on his oatmeal when Reid scooted the bowl before him.

“All about me?” Reid fretted even harder with this news.

“Oh yeah. How we play dinosaurs. How we play pirates. All your maps and the places on them. All the books we’ve read. How you are teaching me how to cook. And about astronomy. How you know all the dialogue from really cool science fiction shows. How we play with Legos and solve math problems. That you speak Elvish and Klingon, and some other big languages too. Grand-dad John wanted to know what you know about buildings.”

“Buildings?”

“He used to build buildings.” 

“Construction?”

“He drew the buildings before they were built.”

“He was an architect?” Reid asked. “Oh, Jack! Look at the time! We need to hurry,” he jumped up from his seat, leaving his half-eaten toast on the plate. He snatched up Jack’s lunch and put it in his backpack. Shoved his own into his satchel. Jack ate a last bite of oatmeal and put the empty bowl in the dishwasher.

When they got to the front door, a familiar figure was already standing beside Bessie in the driveway.

“Captain,” Reid said, nodding to Matts Magnusson. The grumpy middle-aged man stood by the open car door, swishing his gray overcoat impatiently.

“Dr. Reid, you are already five minutes late. Give me the keys, and I will warm up the car,” Matts grumbled. “The boy will need a coat. It’s supposed to rain this evening.”

Reid patted Jack’s shoulder, and Little Hotch dropped his school backpack, running back in the house. He left the front door ajar. Goody flew out, headed around the house for the garage – his favorite hiding spot. Reid was juggling his coffee cup and pulling on gloves in the morning chill, debating whether or not to chase Goody.  
There really wasn’t time. The wicked little feline would have to make do for himself for the day.

Matts opened Bessie’s driver door and slid into the cold seat, putting the key in the ignition. Reid heard the click, click, click of the starter, and detected an odd smell in the air. Sulphur? Like Bessie had a bad case of smelly hiccups.

“She’s not turning over,” Matts complained. “You should trade this car in, Dr. Reid. A nice new Volvo would suit you well.”

There was an unexpected pop from under the hood, and Reid was the first to see the roiling flames leap out. He dropped his satchel and coffee cup on the porch steps, and shot forward.

He yanked the car door open wide and grabbing Magnusson around the chest with both arms, pulling him bodily out of the seat. At first the captain fought against him. There was a bright flash and several sharp pains in Reid’s side, like he had been stung by a swarm of bees, if bees had three-inch metal stingers coated in acid. He ducked his head down to his shoulder, pulled his super-heated coat up as a shield. Captain Magnusson howled out in intense pain, his face in a wild panic.

The rest was a jumble of noise – a horrible, sickening crunch, choking smoke and hateful fire, rocks and chunks flying around him. Reid hit the ground hard, very hard. All went quiet then but for the ringing in his head. Images swam in front of his blurry eyes. Jack was kneeling next to him, holding a phone, sobbing loudly. Reid let his eyes close. A peaceful darkness lulled him inside, whispering the sweetest lullaby.


	4. Two Chiefs

4 - Two Chiefs (Nov 21 – 7 p.m.)

 

Ambulance sirens were ringing in Hotch’s ears as he sat in the private hospital waiting room. The ambulance bay was down below the small room where he had been taken. Every time an ambulance would pull in, Hotch would tense and his heart would race. The late November sky had opened up in a pouring rain that drenched the windows. The rain was pelting the glass, making outside seem like a blur of red and white lights and dark shadows.

Hotch sensed someone else was near. A figure in a blue suit and a navy overcoat approached him tentatively. Hotch knew the younger man. Frank Schultz was the Unit Chief for one of the other BAU teams under Strauss’s purview. Schultz shook Hotch’s hand and motioned for him to sit back down.

“Good evening, sir.”

“Good evening,” Hotch acknowledged in reply.

“Assistant Director Strauss put me in charge of the investigation. I have your team and my team working together, frankly because your team wouldn’t butt out. But I welcome their help, and I’m desperate for your help as well, if you’re up to it.”

“Absolutely,” Hotch agreed.

During their phone call last night, Reid had relayed the details of the exchange between Rabovsky and Ramirez. Visions of Bernie flashed before Hotch’s eyes—that wonderful, friendly smile, her intelligence, her way of mothering without smothering, her sense of humor too. Why did this kind of thing always happen to the people who least deserved it? He remembered how Angie and Jack had played pirates together in the hallway and around the apartment that night when they both came over, and he remembered watching Bernie and Reid cooking dinner in the tiny kitchen apartment. He hadn’t had any news yet on Rabovsky’s condition. He prayed she was going to recover and soon.

“I understand if you need time,” Schultz whispered.

“I want to help,” Hotch answered. 

“How is Dr. Reid?”

“He’s still in surgery. That’s all they’ll tell me,” Hotch complained. “How are you approaching this case? How is this related to Bernie’s shooting yesterday?”

“Have you spoken to anyone since you returned this afternoon?”

“No.”

“This was not an isolated attack on Dr. Reid,” Schultz explained. “Every other member of Cryptology has been injured or killed over the last twenty-four hours.”

Hotch inhaled, and sat back in his chair. Clearly no one had told him, but then he had left his own case, dropped everything, grabbed a flight back home when he had received the phone call telling him that Reid had been gravely injured. Hotch had come straight here to the hospital the minute his plane had touched down. Hotch hadn’t even gone home yet. His go-bag was in his car downstairs. He had assumed Jack would be here, but he wasn't. Jessica had met Aaron here at the hospital and had reassured him that Jack was unharmed and at her house. That had been several hours ago. Since then, Hotch had turned off his phone and waited, alone with his misery and the pouring rain. The rest of Hotch’s team would have followed him back to DC hours later, after a replacement team had been able to take their place and continue the investigation they had been working on.

“Have you been able to reach Rabovsky’s sister?” Aaron asked, seizing on the thought suddenly.

Schultz paused, and then shook his head no. “Dr. Reid mentioned her too. I’m sorry, but Rabovsky’s sister Angela died several years ago. Their father killed her. It was a domestic situation. Didn’t you know?”

“No,” Hotch murmured. Now he understood the sorrow that had been on Bernie’s face when she had mentioned her sister. "She never talked about it."

“Dr. Reid asked yesterday if I had been able to reach Rabovsky’s sister, so I looked into it. I had to dig up the original case file. I don’t believe our current situation has any connection to the previous investigation. It was an open and shut case.”

Hotch waited for Schultz to go on. The younger agent squirmed but continued.

“If you want to know more details, you’ll have to ask Rabovsky yourself. I'm sure she would want me to keep the details a private matter.”

Hotch found the dismissal very odd, but he did admire Schultz’s need to defend Bernie’s privacy. 

“How is Bernie?” Aaron asked.

“She is recovering from two gunshot wounds and a collapsed lung. She lost a lot of blood, but the doctor thinks she’ll make it. She’ll need several weeks to recover, but she’s a trooper, believe me.”

“Where is her daughter Angie?”

“Bernie’s daughter Angie is with Child Services, at least until we can find her husband, Major Rabovsky.”

“Couldn’t someone….. God, Frank. Angie could stay with Jack and me,” Hotch offered. “Please don’t send her to Child Services.”

“No can do, sir. That’s strictly against the rules, and you know it is.”

“But, Frank, Child Services? You know what that can be like,” Hotch begged.

Schultz looked up, down, up, down, shuffled his pages, cleared his throat.

“Between you and me, Angie is at my house with Rachel and Madison. I tried to sweet-talk the case worker, but failed miserably. Then Dr. Lind reasoned with her, gave her a statistical breakdown of what kind of damage foster care can do to an already-traumatized child. So, Angie is bunking with us until we find the Major, but you didn’t hear that from me. Officially, Angela Rabovsky is with Child Services. All right?”

“Thanks, Frank,” Hotch smiled sadly.

“If I ever get shot in the line of duty, and Rachel can't be there, I would want to know that my Madison was in good hands. So I'm just extending the same favor, you know? The Major. He’s CIA – stationed overseas – and we’re having trouble locating him. I’ll be honest with you. I don’t think his superiors want to contact him, because they’ve got him so deep undercover that pulling him out will jeopardize whatever he’s doing. I mean, it seemed to me that they cared more about this job than they do anything else. Strauss is working that angle, hoping to make better headway than I could make.”

Hotch bowed his head and looked away. He did not envy the person who had to break this kind of news to Bernie’s husband, but he deserved to know. Bernie and Angie needed him here, now more than ever.

“Those bastards actually asked me how serious it was. How serious do you think, jackass? His wife took two bullets through the chest,” Frank muttered his displeasure. “Anyhow. Sorry. Where were we? Your team and my team are working together. Given his expertise, I put Agent Morgan to work reconstructing the car bombs from each crime scene. It looks like the same tactic was taken with each. An explosive device was placed underneath their vehicle, to be activated when the vehicle was started, except that they didn’t all work that way.”

“What do you mean?” Hotch gulped.

“Or perhaps….perhaps that was not the intent. They could have been remotely detonated. Agent Larsson’s Saab went up when she was on 66, already headed to work.”

“What is Larsson’s condition?” Hotch asked. 

“Deceased, I’m afraid.”

“Oh,” Hotch whispered, filling with sadness. Reid liked Larsson very much. He was not going to take the news of her death well. “Was her partner with her?” Aaron worried.

“No. My agents met Ms. Kirk when she stepped off the VRE at Union Station. Dr. Larsson’s was the first attack that we learned about, and so her partner was pulled in for questioning initially, in case it was a domestic situation. But obviously when we learned of the other attacks, we knew Ms. Kirk was not responsible. How is your son?”

“He’s with his Aunt Jess. He’s not talking about what he saw. What happened with Agent Rockford?” Hotch asked, deftly steering the questions away from Jack as quickly as possible.

“Agent Rockford’s vehicle detonated in his driveway. His 15 year old son was at the wheel. John had been teaching Jim how to drive.”

“Oh God,” Hotch whispered, imagining how he would feel if he were in Rockford’s shoes, and Jim had been his own Jack.

“Rockford pulled his son from the car even though it was too late to save him. It was horrible. The photos are unbearable. I can’t imagine what John and his wife are going through. Agent Rockford is in critical condition with severe burns over sixty percent of his body. The wife and younger son are by his side.”

“Do you have any idea what happened with Reid?” Hotch asked, struggling for words, too afraid to ask, but unable to stop the words.

“From physical evidence at the scene, my team suspected that Captain Magnusson must have started Dr. Reid’s vehicle, because of his pattern of injuries. Agent Morgan confirmed our initial theories. Reid was either standing on the porch, or coming down off the porch. His coffee cup was broken into pieces by the fall on the steps, and his satchel was in the bushes there. Dr. Reid managed to get Captain Magnusson out of the vehicle before it exploded. Maybe the device was faulty and did not fully engage on the initial cue to explode. I’m not sure. Or was it by design that it didn’t completely engulf the car at once, in order to torture first before the big finale?”

“Were the three attacks this morning simultaneous?” Hotch questioned.

“No. The timeline seems to be Rockford, Larsson, then Reid. It must be remote detonation. If the devices were detonated by remote, the person responsible had to be at the Rockford scene first. Then he would need to take 66, locate Larsson en route, and detonate her car as well,” Schultz speculated. “From there he would have taken 66 to 495 to 95 to Dumfries to Reid’s house. Captain Magnusson was lucky, as was Dr. Reid.”

“That’s a tight timeline,” Hotch observed.

“That struck me too,” Frank nodded. “He had to have had prior knowledge of their morning schedules, don’t you think? Or maybe not. If he’s had prior experience in this, he might have been able to pull it off on the fly. But he would have to have lived in the Washington region to know the roads well enough to navigate around morning rush traffic.”

“That makes sense,” Hotch agreed. “Another question I have is if there is any significance to the order. Why was Dr. Reid last? Oh, but not last, no…” Schultz rambled as he tumbled thoughts around in his brain like runes in a dice cup.

Hotch braced himself and struggled to block out all the horrible images that sprang into his mind. Having heard about Rockford and Larsson, he didn’t know what kind of condition Reid was going to be in, what to expect. Frank continued to speak, unaware of the turmoil roiling around inside Aaron. Or maybe he was fully aware, and he was testing Hotch’s reactions.

“Your son was inside the house and did not witness the explosion. He’s a smart boy though. He grabbed the phone and dialed for help. He called 911, then hung up on them to call his aunt. The 911 operator dialed him back and kept him talking. Jack was sitting by Dr. Reid and Captain Magnusson when the ambulances arrived on scene. His aunt arrived while the ambulances were there,” Schultz soothed. “She refused to let me question him without you being there. I understand completely.”

This news didn’t make Hotch feel any better. Even if Jack hadn’t witnessed the actual explosion, the aftermath would have been horrible enough. Thank goodness for Aunt Jessica!

“What about Dr. Ramirez? How is he taking the news of what happened to his department co- workers?” Hotch asked.

“Dr. Ramirez is dead, sir. He hanged himself in his prison cell, sometime between bed-checks last night and this morning. This note was on the floor below his body.”

Schultz handed Hotch a plastic bag with a sheet of simple yellow paper. On it were four words, ten letters.

_I am so sorry._

Hotch stared angrily at the page before shoving it back at Schultz.

“Dead? How can he be dead? What the hell is this? You can’t believe he’s responsible for the attacks this morning. How could he be? He has been in custody since the confrontation with Rabovsky happened yesterday morning. Everyone else was injured or killed this morning. If Ramirez killed himself between last night and this morning, then he was probably dead before these attacks began,” Hotch raged, letting some of his pent-up anger burst through.

“I believe Dr. Ramirez orchestrated these attacks prior to his incarceration, and that he had an accomplice, maybe more than one, who carried out his plans after he was placed in custody for attempting to murder Rabovsky.”

“Where is Agent Davies?” Hotch hit on the thought with dread.

“We haven’t been able to locate her yet, either in transit or on the run. She doesn’t drive. She lives in DC. She takes the VRE from Union Station to Quantico and back each day, almost the exact opposite route that Ms. Kirk takes. Considering the condition of the rest of the Cryptology Department, the fact we can’t find Agent Davies does not bode well,” Schultz rumbled.

"Have you searched her apartment? What did you find?” Hotch asked.

“We were there at 10 this morning. Her bed was made. The shower was damp. She had clothes laid out for work. Her pajamas were in the hamper in the bathroom. Her purse was by the front door. The coffee machine had brewed a pot. The machine was still on, but no one had taken any coffee from the pot. I turned it off.  
Afraid the glass would shatter.”

“So, somewhere between getting undressed and redressed, and fixing her morning coffee, Davies vanished?” Hotch asked.

“It would seem so.”

“Do you think she’s connected to the attacks on the others?” Hotch wondered. Schultz’s face screwed up with skepticism.

“Although Davies has no great love for Rockford, she is fond of Larsson, and by many accounts, has a serious crush on Dr. Reid. So my first temptation would be to say no, that she was not involved with the orchestration of these attacks on the others. But I’m not ruling anything out.”

“She doesn’t have a crush on Reid,” Hotch denied. Schultz’s skeptical expression didn’t change. “She might have idolized him, a little, but it’s going too far to assume she had a crush on him. She has a boyfriend. She doesn’t have a crush on Reid.”

“My team is questioning Hilda, the current admin, and Andy, the former admin, to see if they can shine any light on this for us. Also we’re questioning Dr. Jung and her husband. We’re even reaching out to the former members of the department who transferred to different locations or left the FBI entirely.”

“Your theory is that this had to have been a coordinated attack by an accomplice or accomplices? I’m not disagreeing with you, but why do this?” Hotch asked plaintively.

“I don’t know at this point, sir. Maybe Dr. Ramirez had a plan in place that if at any time something happened to him, his accomplice would wreak havoc on those responsible. I don’t know. My team will concentrate on investigating Dr. Ramirez’s movements over the last few weeks. I’m hoping it will lead to his accomplice.  
With your permission, I would like for you to assign each of your team members to take the Cryptology Department victims, except for Morgan. I need his expertise with the bombs at the crime scenes.”

“Absolutely,” Hotch quickly agreed.

“There’s one more thing I want you to do for me,” Schultz said.

“Yes?”

“When I spoke to Agent Morgan, he said that Reid writes to his mother every day. I need to know what’s in those letters. I don’t mean to be intrusive or insensitive, but…” Schultz paused, and he gauged Hotch by the look on his face.

Aaron must not have appeared very happy or cooperative. 

“Without knowing the extent of Dr. Reid’s injuries, or even his chances for survival at this point, those letters may be my only way of knowing his view of the situation in Cryptology. We spoke briefly yesterday, but he was in shock, unable to answer very many questions,” Schultz pleaded, looking miserable and apologetic as Hotch’s face fell even further. "I’m so sorry to ask you to do this, but, sir, I need those letters.”

“I don’t know if you know about Mrs. Reid’s condition?” Hotch began.

“I’m very well aware of her condition,” Schultz answered.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Hotch agreed. “I’ll help you however I can.”


	5. Thanksgiving

5 - Thanksgiving (Nov 22 – 10 a.m.)

 

“Did you get any sleep last night?” Rossi asked as he slid into a chair in the BAU conference room and took a good, hard look at Hotch. Aaron straightened his tie and picked up his coffee, taking a hefty gulp.

“Thanks for coming in on Thanksgiving,” he murmured.

“Like you could have kept me away?” Rossi retorted with a snort.

“Sorry to make you miss your turkey.”

“How’s Jack?” Dave asked. Hotch put down the mug, and watched JJ as she took her seat at the table.

“He’s with Jess,” Aaron answered. “He won’t talk about what happened. He won’t even look at me. He’s angry. He keeps asking for Reid. I’ve set up an appointment with his therapist tomorrow morning.”

“How is Reid? What did the doctor say?” Morgan asked.

Derek paced back and forth, studying the photos and the facts displayed on the board at the head of the room. Hotch couldn’t look at the board, couldn’t let his eyes take in the sight of Bessie shattered and ripped apart, thrown all over the lawn, the burns on the side of the house, the blood and soot on the porch. He hadn’t gone home last night. He had slept on the couch at Jess’s house.

“How long was he in surgery?” JJ asked.

“Seven hours. He has injuries to his left shoulder and ribs, his arms. He’s got swelling on the brain and along his spine from being thrown by the blast. Dr. Rhodes has placed him in a medically-induced coma. He hopes time will help… heal…. him….” Hotch struggled with the words, lifting his mug to his face and searching for another gulp of coffee even though he knew the cup was empty.

Everyone else looked away uncomfortably.

“Why don’t you tell us what you’ve learned in reconstructing the bomb scenes?” Rossi said as he turned to Morgan.

“Hotch? Sir, do you have a minute?”

Torg came bouncing up the ramp and into the conference room. He was annoyed and exasperated, not unlike a hyper-vigilant guard dog with someone strange standing outside his fence.

“What’s the matter?” Hotch asked.

“The guards are holding some lady at security, waiting for your approval to let her through. She walked in the building carrying a piece, freaked them out. She said you’ll vouch for her. Her name is Korsakova?”

A thin smile flashed over Hotch’s grim visage. Reid would have been so happy that Korsakova and Mouse and Max had arrived for Thanksgiving after all.

“I’d better get down there before she puts a bullet in someone,” Hotch said, rising to his feet.

“Yep,” Morgan nodded.

Hotch hurried to the security portal near the front entrance. He hurried faster when he saw Korsakova standing there flanked by four guards. Yulia looked like she had been crying. Hotch was sure it wasn’t because of the guards though. She was made of much sterner stuff than that. When Hotch stopped at the security desk, Torg ran into his back. Karl fell into step beside him, whispering an apology. Hotch gave Korsakova a reassuring pat on the arm, and she sighed with relief.

“It’s okay. Let her through. She’s with me. It’s good to see you. How was the flight?” Aaron asked, signing the page that one of the security guards set down in front of him.

“What about her piece, sir?” a guard asked.

“You can give it back,” Hotch murmured, scooting the sign-in page at Korsakova. Yulia sniffled softly, fought a tight smile, and signed her name.

“Specibo, Aaron. The flight was horrible. I came here as soon as we landed and got settled. Can you bring me up to speed? How may I be of assistance?” Korsakova babbled anxiously before she could pull herself back in check, and drop her usual professional reserve into place. Before Hotch could answer, the head guard interjected himself between them again.

“This is your visitor’s badge. Keep it visible on your person at all times. Here is your sidearm. You will keep it stowed at all times unless otherwise directed,” the lead guard ground out the words slowly and loudly, pushing a pink, three by four inch piece of cardstock at her. It had the FBI emblem on the front, the date and time written in the lines on the bottom. Korsakova clipped the makeshift badge to her jacket pocket and waited as the guard put her gun into her hands.

“Specibo,” Korsakova murmured to the guard, who frowned in reply. She holstered her gun under her left arm and patted her jacket back down. “I apologize if I startled you. It’s such a tiny piece. I forgot I was wearing it,” she insisted. Hotch’s eyes widened. A tiny piece?

“How did you get past airport security with a Makarov 9x18?” Torg asked.

“Is that really a Makarov?” Hotch whispered. 

“Yes.”

May I?” Hotch purred, holding out one hand. Korsakova eyed him, then pulled out the gun and let him examine it. “Very nice. I haven’t seen one of these in years.”

“My grandfather had one that he brought it back from Germany,” Torg said. “He bought it off a Soviet soldier in East Berlin. It’s not an especially elegant handgun. Prone to drift left of target.”

“A tendency that a skilled shooter can easily compensate for,” Korsakova murmured. Hotch gave her back the weapon, and she stowed it once more. “Obviously I wasn’t wearing it on the plane,” she replied to Torg. “I picked it up once we landed. A bit old-fashioned, but I liked the feel of it. I can’t walk around unarmed. I feel naked without a gun.”

Hotch, Korsakova, and Torg headed towards the elevators. Karl was giving Yulia stink-eye the entire way. They crowded into the small metal box, and Yulia gave Karl a sideways glance.

“How is Mouse?” Aaron asked Julia, knowing that somewhere Max Volchenkov had the unenviable task of keeping Reid’s daughter Katherine calm after learning what had happened to her father.

And while on that topic, how had Korsakova learned so quickly about what had happened to Reid? Hotch hadn’t called her yet. She must have had some very well-placed sources. Spencer was always joking that General Scott’s team and Korsakova’s team should carpool. Maybe he was right!

“She was sobbing when I left the hotel room. How is Spencer this morning?” Korsakova asked softly.

“He’s….the doctor….I…..” Aaron stammered. Yulia reached out and took one of his hands, holding on quietly for a moment before letting go again.

“We can talk later,” she whispered.

“I can’t believe you tried to get through security carrying a gun,” Torg complained.

“Have you two been properly introduced?” Aaron asked as a grim smile returning to his features.

Karl couldn’t stop yammering. “Lucky they didn’t shoot you,” he was muttering.

“Yulia Korsakova, Karl Torgeson. Torg, Korsakova. Torg is our newest team member. Korsakova is an old friend of Reid’s.”

“Old friend?” Korsakova took offense for amusement’s sake. “I’m younger than you are.”

“By a couple years.”

“Almost three,” Yulia countered.

“What’s your connection to Dr. Reid? Are you colleagues?” Torg asked. Hotch was amazed no one else on his team had spilled the beans yet.

So was Korsakova, for that matter. “Not exactly….” she hedged.

“They share a child,” Hotch said simply. Torg blinked speechlessly at Yulia.

“It’s complicated,” Korsakova breathed, giving Hotch a tentative look.

“I’ll bet,” Torg blinked. Hotch had no doubt that young Torg was now picturing Korsakova, Reid, and Aaron in a sexual threesome, and he wasn’t sure if the idea of that made him want to laugh or want to cry. 

However, from the minute the three of them stepped back into the conference center, everyone was all business.

“Hello again,” Korsakova said when Morgan nodded to her.

“Good morning,” Derek replied, shaking her hand.

“Are these the separate scenes?” Yulia asked, moving over to the board and standing beside Morgan. “Why would anyone use a bomb to kill someone? I have never understood the appeal of explosive devices. They are too chaotic for my tastes.”

“The appeal, ma’am, is the chaos,” Morgan began.

“Who are these people? What is their connection to Dr. Reid?” Yulia asked.

“They are the other members of the Cryptology Department,” Rossi said, standing beside Korsakova, and giving her a through study. Hotch realized this was probably the first time Rossi and Korsakova had met face to face, since he had been on vacation the last time Korsakova had been to the BAU HQ.

“Specibo,” she replied.

“You’re welcome,” Dave soothed, working up a charming smile. Hotch had an itch on his scalp, a tingle on his spine. Was David Rossi flirting with Yulia Korsakova?? “Bernie Rabovsky, John Rockford, Pam Larsson, Ramon Ramirez, April Davies,” Rossi continued, pointing to each picture in turn. “I don’t think…. we haven’t been properly introduced.”

Dave looked to Hotch, who raised a brow. 

“Supervisory Special Agent David Rossi. Professor Yulia Korsakova,” Hotch said slowly.

“Professor? Is that your official rank?” Rossi asked, shaking her hand.

“It is my current title,” she replied diplomatically.

“Pleasure to finally meet you in person,” Rossi schmoozed. Even Morgan was giving him a funny look now. Korsakova shook Rossi’s hand, and he held onto hers a moment too long.

“What is your field of expertise?” Rossi asked.

“I teach linguistics at the University of Washington in Seattle.”

“Linguistics?” Rossi asked. If Dave joked about how much he liked women with skilled tongues, Hotch feared Korsakova might actually shoot Rossi.

“Dave, she’s armed,” Hotch chirped before Rossi had a chance to interject any salty jokes. “Don’t press your luck.”

“Sorry, sorry, sorry, I’m late, sorry,” Penelope gushed as she flew into the room in a flurry, chucking her tablet on the table and throwing her purse in a chair. “I was on the phone with Emily in London. She said she can be on the next plane over if we need her here. What do you say, Bossman? Should I call her back? She’s waiting by the phone. She wants to help.”

“Call Emily back, but tell her to stay put in London. I have a feeling if this goes global, she will be the most helpful to us right where she is,” Hotch replied, gathering up the tablet that Garcia had tossed his direction. “What’s this?”

“Agent Davies. I’ve been monitoring her credit cards, her checking account, her savings account – looking for any activity. As far as I can tell, no one has seen or heard from her since the evening of the 20th, when she stopped at the minimart on the corner near her apartment. She bought a bottle of chocolate milk and an international phone card, and that’s the last transaction on record.”

“Good job,” Hotch murmured, studying the screen. Penelope beamed for a second before sitting down next to Torg.

“Reid, sir? Any news?” Garcia asked hopefully.

“He’s been placed in a medically-induced coma to give him time to heal,” Hotch reported again, lifting his eyes carefully to Korsakova, who was frowning angrily at the board.

“When I get my hands on the person who has perpetrated this violence on Dr. Reid, I will personally tear them limb for stinking limb,” Yulia uttered, low and deep, her brown eyes glittering.

“Stand in line, Sister,” Rossi answered.

Hotch cleared his throat and got down to business.

“Agent Schultz’s team is concentrating on Dr. Ramirez, investigating Ramon’s movements over the last few weeks. Schultz wants Morgan’s expertise on the bomb sites. He has asked our team to concentrate on the rest of the Cryptology Department,” Hotch said. “His team has already interviewed Hilda and Andy, and the agents who left prior to the incident between Ramirez and Rabovsky, so we don’t have to worry about them. We’ll take each of the other co-workers, see if there is any reason why someone would want to hurt them. JJ, you take Larsson’s partner, Ms. Kirk. Rossi, you take Mrs. Rockford. Garcia, keep on Davies. Torg, you take Jung. It goes without saying that I will concentrate on Reid.”

There was a soft knock on the open door. All eyes flew that direction. Strauss stood there, knuckles still tapping. Next to her was a thin, dark-haired woman in her early fifties, with soft features and kind eyes. She cleared her throat quietly, and gazed around the room before her eyes landed on Korsakova.

“A word with your team, Agent Hotchner?” Strauss requested.

“Yes, ma’am,” Aaron agreed, beckoning them in.

“I spoke with Agent Schultz, and he said that you and he are coordinating your efforts. I thought perhaps you could use some more help, so I’ve asked Dr. Blake to join you.”

“But Agent Hotchner has already engaged the services of a very skilled linguist. I don’t want to be underfoot,” Blake said, nodding hello to Korsakova. Yulia gave a thin smile.

“You flatter me,” Korsakova whispered.

“I’m sure we can use all the help you can offer,” Hotch interjected. “Agent Blake, you and Korsakova will go over Ramirez’s suicide note, his notes on his last case, and Reid’s notes on the case as well.”

“It’s Dr. Blake,” Alex replied politely. 

“Dr. Blake,” Hotch corrected himself.

“I’ll leave you to it then,” Strauss approved, closing the door behind herself as she left.

“Tell us what you learned about the bomb blasts,” Hotch said as he turned to Morgan. Blake came to the table and took a seat.


	6. The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face

6 - The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face (Nov 22 – 5 p.m.)

“I thought you were interviewing Larsson’s partner, Ahonui Kirk,” Hotch said, caressing the letter in his grip as JJ plopped down on the leather couch in his office and crossed her arms over his chest. She looked angry and hurt, completely affronted.

“She didn’t want to talk to me,” Jareau bit off the words. “She said she would rather talk to Rossi. I know you assigned her to me because you thought she would respond better to a woman, but the opposite seems to be true. We’re not getting anywhere. I am rubbing her the wrong way, and I have no idea why.”

“Rossi is busy with Rockford’s wife.” 

“Hotch, Kirk doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“How hard did you try?” Hotch asked. JJ frowned deeper, heaving up an angry noise, uncrossing her arms.

“She clammed up from the minute I walked in the room. She won’t stop crying either. I didn’t get anywhere with her.”

“Where’s Torg?”

“With Dr. Jung and her husband.”

“I’ll talk to Ms. Kirk then. Why don’t you go over Reid’s letters, and see what you can discern about the environment in Cryptology?”

“Mrs. Reid gave you Spence’s letters?” JJ gasped. 

“It wasn’t easy,” Hotch whispered. “I had to promise to return them the second I’m done with them. The Las Vegas field office picked them up yesterday and shipped them overnight.”

“Did you tell her what happened?”

“I did my best to explain, but she didn’t believe me. She thinks Spencer is off on another adventure that he can’t tell her about. I thought it was better for her to leave her with her delusions instead of forcing her to accept the truth.”

“Hotch, what if Reid doesn’t wake up?” JJ whispered. “I don’t mean to be brutal, but it is a possibility. Are you going to write letters to Mrs. Reid, pretending to be her son, until she can accept what’s happened? You should have helped her face the truth.”

“I thought it was best not to, at least at this point. I’ll jump off that bridge if I come to it,” Hotch replied. Aaron left unsaid that he had also debated about calling Spencer’s father. But he had finally decided that the phone call would be too awkward to stomach. Remembering how sideways the situation had gone when they revealed their relationship to Diana Reid, Hotch thought it was best to postpone revealing it to William Reid. Of course, that decision was based on the assumption that Diana hadn’t already told him, or that Spencer hadn’t. But Hotch didn’t think it was likely, as neither of them was in talking terms with William.

“Have you learned anything useful from the letters?” JJ asked.

“Not yet, but I’m not very far into them. All I’ve learned is that every day in the last six weeks when I asked Reid how things were going, he was lying through his teeth when he told me it was all fine.” Hotch shook his head, tucking the letter he currently held back into its envelope. JJ shifted uneasily as she studied Hotch, looked away,  
looked back.

“Hotch, frankly the last thing I want to do is pore over those letters, listening to Reid whining to his mommy about how bad his job is. Perhaps I could be more useful on the street, helping Schultz and his team tracing Dr. Ramirez’s movements?”

“That’s not my call, JJ. Schultz is the lead on this, and he asked us to concentrate on the rest of the Cryptology Department,” Hotch cautioned. “If you want to take a more active role in his team’s portion of the investigation, you should talk to Schultz yourself.”

“All this sitting around talking to people, and reading letters, and going over the evidence again and again on our end is getting us nowhere. I think that was Schultz’s hope. Give us something to keep us busy and chasing our tails, keep us out of his hair while he solves the case without our help,” JJ frowned.

“It’s not a contest, JJ.”

“Yes, it is,” she retorted sharply.

“You have my permission to talk to Schultz if you want a more active role in his end of the investigation.”

“Thanks, Hotch,” Jareau said, bouncing up from the couch and racing from the office. Hotch watched her leave. He turned back to Reid’s letters on the desktop. He gathered them up in his fingers, sorted them by date, and tucked them back into the satchel at his feet. He was shaking off the bad feeling creeping up his spine. He drew the light brown leather bag into his lap and held it tight against himself as he focused on a distant memory.

* * *

(flashback)

 

“Are you blowing smoke up my ass, Agent Gideon?” Aaron demanded, following Jason through the darkened hallways like a rat through a maze. “You drop a plum assignment like this on me for no reason, and you don’t think I have a right to be suspicious? I’m sorry, but I need more specifics before I can agree.”

“Look, Hotchner, either you’re interested in this security detail, or you aren’t. I don’t have time to go over this again. We leave in six hours for the conference in Oxford, and I need an extra man, because one of my usual guys has jury duty tomorrow and he can’t travel.”

“Why me?”

“You were top of the list. Your SSA said you would jump at the chance for a detail that didn’t involve chasing down fugitive assholes or negotiating hostage situations. He thinks you’re being wasted in SWAT. It’s a cake-walk, Hotchner. All you have to do is help me keep an eye on Dr. Reid while he’s in England. That’s all. You’ve done security details before with Ambassador Prentiss and General Johnson.”

“Why does Dr. Reid need a security detail? It’s a mathematics conference, isn’t it? Not much need for a SWAT agent there,” Hotch said.

Gideon smirked as he paused at the door to the massive library and archives.

“He’s a special case, Dr. Reid. What do you know about him?”

“Not much.”

“I’m sure you’ve heard rumors. What have you heard?”

Hotch froze, and almost got the swinging door in the face for his troubles. He knew enough not to repeat the scuttlebutt he had heard about the connection between Jason Gideon and Dr. Reid. The prevailing opinion was that Gideon’s interest in Dr. Reid was sexual and not intellectual. It remained to be seen if Dr. Reid was worth the time and effort that Jason Gideon had been putting into him.

“He’s a pre-pubescent super genius that you want to turn into a secret weapon for the FBI.”

“Secret weapon?” Gideon paused, flashing his badge at the fellow agent at the counter. “Hi, Mabel. We’re looking for Dr. Reid.”

The agent smiled softly, speaking in a low voice.

“Good evening, Jason. Dr. Reid is in the physics section,” she said, motioning that direction.

“Thank you, Mabel,” Gideon replied, hurrying through the turnstile. Hotch showed his badge, and Mabel let him through as well. He had a hard time keeping up with Jason as the older man sprinted around heavy wooden tables lined with cadets busy studying or flirting or reading.

Gideon swerved left and tapped on a glass door. The agent inside the booth next to the door motioned him closer. Gideon put his badge up against the booth window, and the guard unlocked the door, letting him pass through. Gideon held the door. Hotch hurried up to the glass door, showed his badge again, and was allowed to join Jason. The guard gave them a visual once-over and opened the inner door.

“Dr. Reid is not prepubescent. He’s an adult. Technically, at this point, he’s a recruit. The Bureau wants him to wait a few months before he begins training. But he has a helluva lot of potential,” Gideon insisted. “I believe that Dr. Reid will be very useful to the Bureau.” 

“How old is he?”

“Eighteen.”

“Do you always keep potential recruits under such high security when they travel abroad?” Hotch whispered to Gideon as they roamed past shelf after shelf of books.

“Only when they have an eidetic memory, and had three PhD’s before they learned how to shave properly,” Gideon replied, not without a hint of humor. “I apologize. Slight exaggeration.”

“Which part?” Hotch gulped.

“He does know how to shave,” Gideon almost smiled as he stopped. Hotch stopped too. “The truth is, Agent Hotchner, that Dr. Reid is being pursued by other interests besides the Bureau; CIA, NSA, various universities, foreign governments. The security detail is a necessary precautionary measure, for his protection.”

They were hearing voices. Well, only one, but it was an angry voice.

“Who do they have shelving these books? Who in their right mind puts Galileo’s Discourse on Falling Bodies up here? Have a little respect.”

“Reid?” Gideon called out in a whisper appropriate for their environment.

“I’ll need to take them all down and redo them properly. That’s the only answer,” the skeletal marionette continued to mutter. He was up high on the ladder, leaning precariously to one side, all aglow with the sunlight flooding the library wing from the windows and the skylights overhead.

“Reid?” Gideon repeated. The figure didn’t hear him, kept on muttering to himself.

“Perhaps they were conducting a field test on gravity,” Reid speculated.

Gideon reached up one long corduroy leg, and grabbed a knee. The young man screamed out in surprise, let go of the ladder, and flailed wildly. Gideon dropped to the ground to avoid the big foot that swung his direction. Hotch bolted forward as the corduroy-clad boy fell into the narrow space between the two bookshelves. Hotch knew there was no way he would fit between them, he was too tall. He was either going to collide with one shelf or the other, probably with his head.

The kid knocked his head and an arm on the way down. Books tumbled everywhere. Hotch reached out, and Reid landed gracelessly in Hotch’s arms, against his broad chest. There was a delicate arm slung around Hotch’s broad shoulders. A tiny button nose rested almost against the tip of Hotch’s own eagle’s beak. Big amber-brown eyes with long feathery lashes blinked at Aaron from an inch away. The two men were standing almost nose to nose. The nervous young man remained still, giving Hotch an extended chance to study his androgynous face, long features, and a broad jaw. Jason Gideon’s pet genius was super pretty close up, Hotch decided.

Once the initial surprise wore off, the young man realized he was standing against a strange man who had his arms tight around him. Reid made to back away, rubbing his left arm at the elbow. Without warning, Hotch gave a reflexive shout. He snatched Dr. Reid close again, and shielded him as a second wave of heavy books spilled down around them in the narrow space. The ladder tipped sideways and crashed to the floor. It had missed them by a fraction of an inch, and it had left horrible scratches in the bookshelf. Gideon had dodged out of the way barely in time. 

Hotch let go of Reid when the young doctor tugged frantically away from him. Reid pushed his disarrayed, slickened hair back into place, and avoided making eye contact with Hotch. Aaron burned with anger when he heard laughter from the end of the row of bookshelves, from the cadets who had been studying at the tables. Gideon raised the ladder back into place, setting the wheels into the metal tracks at the top of the shelf. He cast a baleful glance at the cadets, and they vanished like cockroaches.

“Everyone okay?” Gideon asked Hotch and Reid.

Hotch nodded at Gideon, and waited for Reid’s reply, except that Reid was back on the floor on his hands and knees. He picked up each book, straightened the bent pages, stroked the covers. He was apologizing gently to each one of them under breath. Hotch couldn’t help but stare as the boy crawled around and gathered the tomes up, talking to them as a witch would talk to a familiar.

“Dr. Reid?” Gideon said. The boy stopped, sat flat on the ground, and acknowledged the presence of the two other men.

“Sorry, sir. I was lost in thought. You startled me.”

“Sorry to have startled you. Dr. Spencer Reid, this is Special Agent Aaron Hotchner. He’s going with us to Oxford,” Gideon answered.

Reid’s eyes rose shyly up Hotch’s form, and landed for the briefest second on his face before falling again. Reid gulped audibly. He put a hand to his right eyebrow, and drew back a small smear of blood. Hotch quickly gave him a handkerchief, and Reid covered his right eyebrow. It wasn’t a bad cut, only a small dent.

“Thank you, sir. Nice to meet you,” Reid stammered, eyes on the floor. “Do you plan to take part in the conference?”

“No,” Hotch replied. “I’ll be there to look after you.”

Reid’s luminous brown eyes lifted for a second, and dropped again. Hotch extended a hand downward, either as a handshake or a hand up, whichever, maybe both. Reid hugged a book to his chest and bit his bottom lip, ducking back from the hand unsurely. Hotch withdrew the hand. He had enough personal experience with child abuse to recognize it was a bad sign when someone read an extended hand not as a sign of greeting but as a sign of attack. Gideon had read that cringe too.

“I haven’t talked to you since you came back from Las Vegas. How’s your mother doing?” Gideon asked. Reid got up on his knees then rose slowly to his feet. He attempted to make his face a mask of calm, but his inner pain was visible.

“She’s fine. She says hello,” Reid lied, putting on a very fake smile. He was hugging a large book against his chest. Gideon let the lie pass because it gave him an opportunity to profile the young man.

“You’re tired. You should get some rest before the flight,” Gideon suggested gently. There was no denying the concern in his voice, genuine concern, Hotch decided.

“I thought I would grab a chair at the airport and rest there. Considering the hour of the day, and the level of traffic in and around the Washington Beltway, past the Pentagon, past Crystal City and Rosslyn, there would not be ample time to travel from the Quantico complex to my apartment and back again before having to leave for the airport.”

“Look at your eyes. You need to rest. You can sleep in my office,” Gideon said softly. Reid turned even more red and stared away.

“I don’t want to be any trouble,” Spencer murmured, setting the book he was holding back on the nearest shelf. He gave Hotch the handkerchief. Hotch folded it back into his pocket without a word.

“Nonsense. You haven’t even had lunch yet. We’ll order something in.”

“I’m not hungry,” Reid denied.

“A game of chess, perhaps?” Gideon offered. Reid’s eyes lit up at the mention of the game. Gideon knew he was on the right track. “It’s settled then. If there aren’t any further questions, Agent Hotchner, we’ll see you at Dulles at 7 p.m.,” Jason said to Hotch.

Aaron quietly watched Reid bend down to an empty space on a bottom shelf, and retrieve a light brown satchel from where it had been hidden. The young man tucked the handle over one shoulder, and clutched the bag to his front. His curious eyes darted back to Hotch’s face, and then hid on the floor once more.

“Dulles. 7 p.m. I’ll be there,” Hotch promised.

“Good!” Gideon exclaimed before he headed off in the other direction.

Reid toddled along after Jason. Hotch watched as Reid passed by the end of the shelves. The boy paused and leaned back in order to gaze wide-eyed at Hotch around the corner of the dark, wooden stacks. Gideon shouted his name from the other end of the room, and Reid leapt to obey. As Reid passed the tables where the other cadets were sitting, several of them laughed at him. Reid fled like a startled rabbit to catch up to Gideon, as if the other cadets were frightful hounds who might chase and nip at him, or worse, rip him to shreds for the sport of it.

Hotch walked to the end of the shelves and stared. Gideon was escorting Reid through security. The teen was as close as a shadow to Jason’s side. Gideon had an arm around Reid, a hand on his back. That was certainly more than amiable – but was it sexual or parental in nature? Gideon winced and touched Reid’s right eyebrow. Jason was talking to Spencer, and the teen’s adoring eyes followed him everywhere. Reid was hanging on whatever Gideon was explaining as the older agent pointed around at the security booth, and the walls that they passed.

“I can’t believe they’re so blatant. It’s disgusting. You know they’re fucking,” one cadet muttered to another.

“It’s disgraceful,” another replied.

“How did Gideon talk the Brass into a stipend for rent boys?”

“What does the FBI want with that kid?” 

“He’s a genius. They want his brain.”

“Genius? He’s a pencil. He’s nothing but a brain on a stick.”

“I’ve got news for you assholes. That ‘brain on a stick’ could turn out to be your director someday, so you might not want to get on his bad side,” another cadet interjected dryly.

Hotch appeared around the end of the shelves, and all the cadets sprang up at his approach to their tables. Aaron’s mood must have showed on his face, because the cadets were looking ashamed, to the very last man.

“As you were,” Hotch muttered as he strode past. He was searching around his pockets for his cell phone. He needed to call Haley, grab a suitcase, and head for Dulles. But all Hotch could seem to think about was the feeling of that lithe body in his arms, and how those big, beautiful, brown eyes had stared at him in wonder.


	7. Simple Human Kindness

7 - Simple Human Kindness (Nov 22 – 6 p.m.)

Ahonui Kirk was frowning when Hotch walked into the small interrogation room where she was waiting. When she saw him though, the frown faded to a faint, almost timid smile of greeting.

“Ms. Kirk? I’m…”

“Agent Hotchner,” she said, standing up to shake his hand. She was a short, round Polynesian woman. Her curvaceous figure was made even more pronounced by her advanced state of pregnancy. Her long, dark hair was pulled back and tucked together into a bun. Hotch motioned for her to be seated again, pulled her chair out for her, pushed it gently in. He gave her a fresh box of tissues, and she dried her red eyes.

“Thank you for coming in again. You have my deepest sympathies, ma’am. Thanks for being so patient. I’m sorry if the interview with Agent Jareau didn’t go well. We don’t mean to put you under any more stress than you’re already under.”

“I didn’t want to talk to her,” Hon said, dabbing her eyes.

“My agent wasn’t…”

“She is rude on the phone, and even more rude in person.”

“I apologize if Agent Jareau rubbed you the wrong way. If I may ask, how did she so offend you?”

Hon snorted and shook her head. “The phone system in Cryptology is all messed up. I’m sorry if my grief was annoying her. I have lost the love of my life, the person I wanted to spend forever with. Excuse me if I’m feeling a bit emotional.”

Hotch waited for her to go on. He did make a note about the phone system malfunctioning.

“I called Pam a few weeks ago, and when she picked up, we could both hear the conversation between Dr. Reid and Agent Jareau on the other line. I didn’t like the way Jareau spoke to Reid. She was being rude to him. I could let it slide once, maybe she was having a bad day, but the next time our lines got crossed, sure enough, Jareau was talking down to him again, like she was annoyed she even had to deal with him. She was yelling at him that she had more important things to do than listen to him babble. Could he limit his answers to one or two words at a time instead of going on and on about shit she didn’t need to know?”

“I’m sorry,” Hotch said.

“She was rude to him then, and she was rude to me in the same tone today, but the difference is, I’m not as polite as Dr. Reid is. I don’t have to sit there and take it. I told her she could leave.”

“I’m sorry,” Hotch repeated.

“Pammy liked Dr. Reid, thought he was a nice kid. No one deserves to be treated that way, especially by someone who is supposed to be a friend, a co-worker, a teammate. You’re Reid’s boyfriend, aren’t you? Partner? I hate the words ‘boyfriend’ or ‘girlfriend’. I much prefer ‘partner’.”

“Yes, I am, and yes, I prefer ‘partner’ to ‘boyfriend’,” Hotch replied.

“Pam didn’t like the way Rockford or Ramirez treated Reid either. Rockford especially. He constantly making snide comments about Reid’s sexuality. Did Dr. Reid ever tell you what was going on in the office?”

“No,” Hotch admitted sadly. “He probably didn’t want to worry me.”

“He probably didn’t want you marching up there and taking a swing at Rockford,” Hon mused. “Pam said it made her sick, made her relive the vile way she was treated in middle school and high school. She put up with so much herself, physical and emotional bullying at home and at school, and it made her grow up to want to protect other people. She could joke around, maybe kid with you a little, but when push came to shove, you always knew Pam had your back.”

“I can tell you loved her very much. She made you feel safe.”

“I don’t know how I’m going to do this without her,” Hon whispered. She teared up again.

“I understand,” Hotch soothed.

“I know you do,” Hon nodded.

“The tension level in the Cryptology department was very high most of the time, but do you know if anything had happened in the last few weeks to escalate the situation?” Hotch asked.

“Lots of things happened. Andy left, and that made Rockford mad. Hilda came on, and that put Pam on edge. They butted heads from the start over religion and homophobia. Dr. Reid came on. Hilda didn’t like him either, for the same reasons she didn’t like Pam, but Dr. Ramirez totally lost his mind over Dr. Reid. Ramon was convinced that Reid was there to spy on him, and to replace him. It didn’t help that Rockford fed that paranoia by floating the rumor that Reid was working for Internal Affairs. Pam thought Rock was doing it to egg Ramirez on, for the sheer joy of it. Have you ever met people who thrive on the emotional upset they cause in other people? That’s John Rockford in a nutshell.”

“Reid doesn’t work for Internal Affairs,” Hotch sighed. “He never has.”

“I know. Pam and I stayed up half the night, the night when Bernie was shot, and talked about what would happen next. Pam knew that Rockford was going to be chosen to take Bernie’s place, and she didn’t want to work with him as her boss. She didn’t know what department to request a transfer to though, or even if she wanted to stay with the Bureau. Pam adored Bernie. Said she was the first supervisor she had ever had who treated her like a human being.”

"Reid said Bernie is very motherly, but in a good way.”

“Yes. Always friendly. Always caring. I still remember when Pam and I found out we were expecting, Bernie was almost as excited as we were. She brought me all these baby books, and she talked for an hour about all the thing to expect. She and the Major wanted more kids, planned on more kids when their schedules might allow, though maybe not now, because Bernie’s getting older, and their jobs keep them apart so much. But it was nice, you know? It was very nice of her. We talked about baby names. Bernie did her best to make up for how Rockford and Hilda and Ramirez were treating Pam and Reid both. Maybe Bernie’s worst trait is that she’s too nice.”

“I didn’t know it was that bad,” Hotch replied gently. “I’m sorry for how this has come to a head. I’m so sorry about your partner.”

“Thanks. I….. Pam was so brave. I wish I could be more like her. I wonder if the baby will be like her.”

“I understand.”

“She was always there to protect me. Always knew what to do. I feel so lost. What am I going to do without her?” Hon cried.

“I…I’m….” Hotch stammered. He stayed quiet while she pulled herself back together. All Hotch could picture was Reid lying peacefully in his hospital bed, and all he could imagine was how he would feel in Hon’s shoes.

“I’m sorry. I know you’re holding on by a thread yourself, worried about Dr. Reid. I’m sorry,” Hon whimpered.

“That morning when you left for work? Did you see anyone hanging around your building?” Hotch had to steer the conversation back to the case, because he could not let himself fall back down the rabbit hole of all worrying about all the things that might go wrong with Reid.

“No. There wasn’t anyone hanging around.” 

“The night before? Anyone strange in the area?” 

“There was a guy pushing all the buttons to get someone to buzz him in. He turned out to be the boyfriend of one of the other tenants though. Pam went down to let him in. Some college kid. Pam escorted him up to 319, and waited to make sure the girl there knew him.”

“But no one odd? Nothing unusual?”

“You know how it is. You don’t see these things. Early morning, leaving for work, your mind is on what the day will hold, what’s on your desk, what to do first, what to do second. I was thinking about my next dig, how long I have to sit around in that claustrophobic office, making nice with the people with money, before I can get back to the field, back to my work, back to what I love.”

“Dig?” Hotch questioned. “You work for the Smithsonian, I thought?”

“My first love is archeology. I’ll put on a suit to raise funds, but only as long as necessary. I’ve finally gathered enough financing for another dig back home. I wanted to bring a Hawaiian exhibition here. That’s where my mind was. I went to the train station and parked like I do every day. I didn’t notice the people in the crosswalks, or the cars parked illegally on the corners. No one was following me. No one stood out. It was a normal morning like every other morning is. There wasn’t anything wrong.”

“Any detail at all, no matter how small, might make the difference in this case,” Hotch stressed.

“If I remember anything, I will call you. I promise I will. I really need to leave now though. I have a doctor’s appointment, and I need to finish making arrangements for Pam. Her mom is here from St. Paul.”

“Is there anything I can do for you? Someone I can call for you?”

“No. I talked to my mom. As soon as the baby is born, I’m going to fly back to Hawaii to get myself together.”

“I meant more immediately, is there anything I can do for you?” Aaron said.

Hon frowned, stared at the table top, and rubbed her thumb into an indentation in the wood.

“Well, there is one thing, but I feel quite forward for asking. You’re a complete stranger, and you don’t owe me a thing.”

“What is it?” Hotch wondered. 

“I don’t want to do this alone.”

“Do what?” Hotch shivered. Hon put a hand on her belly and rubbed slowly.

“Pam was going to be in the delivery room with me,” Hon whispered. “Her mom and me, we’re not friendly. We’re polite. But we’re not close. She doesn’t feel any connection to the baby, doesn’t want any connection either.”

“But it’s her grandchild,” Hotch protested.

“When Pam and I did the IVF procedure, we both donated eggs, and so, it might be my child, or it might be Pammy’s. We don’t know which yet. We wanted it to be a surprise when the baby was born.”

“What about… Wouldn’t you rather have family there?”

“My mom can’t come. She’s caring for my uncle.”

Hotch smiled sadly at Hon. He pulled out a business card and jotted two more phone numbers on the back of it.

“I’m yours, whenever you need me, whatever you need. You call me, day or night, and I’ll be there,” he promised. “This is me. This is my work number. This is my cell number. This is my sister- in-law Jess. If you can’t reach me, Jess will know where I am. Wherever I am, I’ll be here for you.”

“Have you ever done this before?” Kirk asked, pulling the card into her hand and holding it, rubbing it.

“No. Unfortunately, I was away on a case when my son was born. I’ve always regretted that.”

“It’s liable to be messy. Blood, guts, gore. Harsh language.”

“I’m used to that.”

“Yeah, I guess if you spend all day tracking serial killers and picking up dead bodies, this isn’t going to phase you,” Hon sniffed, then grinned unexpectedly at a happy memory. “Pam spent months working on me to have the delivery at home, with a midwife, incense and candles, low light and soothing music.”

“However?” Hotch sensed there was more coming.

“I told her when she gets pregnant, she can have all the low light and candles and soft music she wants. But I want Novocain, and an OB maternity doctor with a couple decades of experience. At first, she was all, ‘Fine, fine, whatever you want, honey’, but the last few weeks, Pam has been…had been…. leaving business cards from midwives around the house again, playing all this soft music for me. It was driving me crazy. If I never hear another Enya song, it will be too soon. I think maybe Pam wanted a calming presence, because I’m not going to be calm, and she would definitely not have been calm either.”

“You call me, and I’ll be there,” Hotch said. “I can’t promise I’ll be calm, but I’ll do my best to help in any way I can.”

Hon fought with a smile but the tears broke through once again. Hotch reached out and took her hand. Her fingers were trembling. Hotch felt so sorry for her. He knew there were things that needed to be done, but it wouldn’t hurt to sit there for a few minutes, and offer her this simple human kindness.


	8. Four Words - Ten Letters

8 - Four Words, Ten Letters (Nov 22 – 6 p.m.)

“Four words. Ten letters,” Blake said. “That’s not much to go on.”

Korsakova sat holding the plastic bag with Ramirez’s suicide note in it. Blake sat across from her, chin on hand, elbow on table, studying it from the other side.

“What then do we make of this, Dr. Blake?” Korsakova wondered.

“It’s not a goodbye. It’s not an indictment. It’s not accusation. It’s an apology.”

“He feels profound remorse. He is not just sorry. He is so sorry,” Korsakova agreed.

“This is genuine remorse,” Blake nodded. “But for which? For what?”

“For everything?” Blake suggested.

“Can we say that for certain? Is he apologizing for what he did to Agent Rabovsky, or is he apologizing for what is yet to happen to Reid, Larsson, and Rockford?” Korsakova questioned.

“I don’t follow.”

“This is not ‘you will be sorry’. This is ‘I am so sorry’.”

“I follow you. If he meant to be vengeful, to strike out at them, he would have said ‘you will be sorry’,” Alex nodded.

“He is apologizing for what has happened, for the unfortunate exchange with Agent Rabovsky,” Korsakova said, putting the page down. “Dr. Ramirez, maybe he did not know what this accomplice had in mind?”

“Is there an accomplice?” Blake asked. “Do we know for a fact that Ramirez had an accomplice in this, someone to revenge him if things went wrong?”

“He could not have performed the necessary procedures required to execute these attacks.”

“Because he was in jail at the time they were committed, thus there must be an accomplice on the outside,” Blake agreed.

“Not only because of his incarceration, but because this was not his area of expertise. Remember, Agent Morgan said that the bombs were military-style, simple and effective, and not at all amateurish.”

“His accomplice is a soldier with a background in explosives. Or a former soldier.”

“Yes, but Dr. Ramirez does not have a military background. No expertise with weaponry. No prior arrests for acts of violence, only for protesting wars in college, and for an unfortunate exchange of vulgarities with one of his neighbors,” Korsakova said.

“How does a man who doesn’t have a history of physical violence go from protesting war to gunning down his FBI supervisor?” Blake asked.

“This Anonymous Source case Ramirez was working – he was under so much pressure to find the key to the puzzle.”

“It was internal pressure though. No one was being hard on him from the outside. He had his own inner demons, I think. Agent Rabovsky told him to set this case aside and concentrate on something else, to come back to it when he was ready, when he could see it with clearer eyes,” Blake reported.

“But behind his back, she had given the case to Spencer, and in Dr. Ramirez’s eyes, that meant Rabovsky had lost faith in his ability to solve the riddle. If Agent Rabovsky had given Ramirez’s case to Reid, that meant she was putting her hopes in Spencer, not in Dr. Ramirez. I’d be angry if it were me. I’d be hurt. I know what it’s like to be replaced in my position by a younger agent,” Korsakova whispered. Blake couldn’t help the small smile that sprang up.

“But would you shoot someone over being replaced in your job?”

“Darling, at the time, if I had known who to shoot, he would already have been dead,” Yulia confided.

“Where do we begin then? Ramirez finds out that Dr. Reid has been given his case,” Alex speculated.

“This makes Dr. Ramirez angry.”

“He shoots Agent Rabovsky when she pulls the case away from him.”

Alex and Yulia frowned at each other.

“Then Dr. Ramirez should logically be concerned with hurting the replacement agent, with hurting Spencer. Why let loose this accomplice on everyone? Why not concentrate only on the primary source of Dr. Ramirez’s discomfort?” Yulia wondered.

“There was no need to take out everyone else,” Blake frowned. “But he attacked the entire department.”

“Not everyone. Only his peers,” Korsakova shrugged. “This is not a man who would concern himself with killing the current receptionist, or the former receptionist, or the Dr. Jung, the person who has left and is no longer in the department. The other three recent departures besides.”

“Why have Agent Davies disappeared? Where has she gone? She was hired as Dr. Reid’s assistant.”

“Ah, but he did not treat her as an assistant. He treated her as an equal, which was why she merited the same treatment as the others who were attacked,” Korsakova decided.

“You’re right. He was concerned with those who are directly causing Ramirez pain. Ramirez had to be telling him the situation in the department then,” Alex said.

“So this accomplice, he hears what has happened, what has occurred between Dr. Ramirez and SSA Rabovsky, and it is his wish to avenge Dr. Ramirez.”

“Ramirez was a loner. He didn’t have any close friends. He wasn’t in a relationship. He had never been married. He had siblings, but they weren’t close. Who is he asking to carry out this plot of revenge?” Blake asked. “If he asked at all.”

“Agreed,” Blake nodded again. “We cannot assume that Dr. Ramirez had any prior knowledge of what this accomplice might had had in mind. Didn’t Dr. Reid’s notes about the case indicate that the anonymous source who was sending the literary messages, that he and Dr. Ramirez had started to have a private correspondence as well?”

“Yes,” Korsakova answered, rooting through the files and pulling one open. “Although the contents of Ramirez’s missives are not known, Ramirez and this Anonymous Source have been exchanging correspondence for six or seven weeks. So if the Anonymous Source is the accomplice, then he had prior knowledge of the situation and the people in Cryptology.”

“What would you talk about with a complete stranger? Once you get past the usual greetings, once you know you can trust the other person with your confidences?”

“My family,” Yulia said. 

“He doesn’t have one.”

“My friends?” Korsakova offered. 

“He doesn’t have any.”

“My work.”

“So Ramirez opens up to this person, and tells him all about how horrible the department personnel are being to him. ‘Hello. You seem lonely and need a friend to talk to. I need someone to talk to as well. What do you want to talk about?’ How can you get a stranger to open up to you? By opening up to this stranger,” Blake purred.

Korsakova suggested, “Over the weeks, Dr. Ramirez must have told this accomplice everything that has been going on. Is there any way to find out what Dr. Ramirez was saying to this Anonymous Source?”

“You would have speak to him in his own language.”

“Which includes several, by these notes, including Old Church Slavonic?”

“Dr. Ramirez was probably sending him…” 

“Or her…”

“Agreed, or her, excerpts from his favorite books.”

“This theory of ours assumes that the Anonymous Source is the accomplice.”

“Who else are we left with beside him or her?” Blake asked.

“The missing girl. It could be Agent Davies.”

“Davies wasn’t close to Ramirez or Rockford, not at all, but by all accounts, she liked Larsson, and adored Dr. Reid.”

“Nonetheless, we must talk with Agent Garcia about the missing girl.”

“Agreed. Davies is the only unknown factor. We have to confirm her involvement, or exclude her from the suspect list, one or the other,” Blake concluded.


	9. Dinner At Dmitri's

9 - Dinner at Dmitri’s November 22 – 8 p.m.

“You can’t possibly believe April Davies is behind these attacks,” Garcia gasped as she sat down beside Blake at the restaurant table at Dmitri’s.

“Where’s Hotch?” she added.

Morgan looked to Rossi, who pushed a basket of breadsticks towards Penelope.

“Hotch is at the hospital with Dr. Reid,” Torg murmured.

“How is he?” Garcia worried.

“Guarded condition, literally and figuratively,” Rossi replied. Morgan slipped a drink from his glass of wine.

"Hotch is taking Jack to see his therapist in the morning,” Derek added quietly.

“The kid won’t talk about what he saw,” Rossi whispered.

“Where are your notes on the Davies girl?” Korsakova asked. Garcia slipped her the folder.

“Where’s JJ?” Garcia asked.

“The desk work wasn’t sitting well with Jareau. Hotch said she could ask Schultz for more of an active role. So Schultz paired JJ up with Agent Thomas on his team, last we heard,” Torg said. Everyone gave him a strange look, because clearly they had not been privy to this information. In fact, only Torg had known about it. The young agent felt their eyes, cleared his throat, and added nervously, “Why are we here at Dmitri’s? I thought you said this was the Thanksgiving dinner? I expected turkey, stuffing, you know?”

“Italian. It’s kind of a tradition for us,” Rossi tried to make light, but his broad smile crumbled away.

“Malin was so mad at me for not coming to her house for Thanksgiving dinner,” Torg answered. “I’m going to have to make it up to her and Simon too.”

“This child is too good to be true,” Korsakova commented, pushing the folder from Garcia over to Blake.

“How do you mean?” Garcia asked.

“Her dossier reads like bad fiction,” Yulia sniffed her disapproval.

“She comes from a normal family background: mother, father, one sister. Parents are both teachers. Father is former military himself. Her sister is a writer. Oh, like your sister, Torg. Davies had a very happy home life. She was great in school. She’s wanted to be a librarian from the time she was very small. She reads voraciously. She decided to join the FBI when recruiters came to her high school,” Blake summed up quietly.

“Bad fiction,” Korsakova frowned. “It feels too good to be true.”

“She graduated high school top of her class. She went to college. She moved to Virginia. She attended the FBI Academy, maintained high marks in all her classes. She was working in the library in the archives,” Blake continued.

“Or she was, until Rabovsky had her pulled to work alongside Reid in Cryptology,” Morgan pointed out. “It’s clear why though now.”

“They are two peas in one pod?” Korsakova asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” Morgan smiled. “Davies was the one person Bernie thought would be able to keep up with Reid.”

“But this girl, she is not normal. She has had no brushes with the law? No rebellious phase? No indication that she’s ever done anything wrong in her entire life?” Korsakova questioned. “What about this incident from college?”

“Her parents filed a police report when she lost a weekend with a boyfriend, which he blamed on too much alcohol, and she blamed on bad judgment. Charges were dismissed,” Blake said.

“She transferred from SUNY to American University. Nothing curious since,” Garcia defended. It was clear she was identifying strongly with Davies, and didn’t want to see or to say anything negative about her fellow agent.

“She is a truly a very boring girl,” Yulia frowned.

“The FBI tends to like people who are ‘straight and narrow’,” Morgan offered. “Davies passed her security check with flying colors.”

“You’re a cynic,” Penelope told Korsakova. 

“I’m a realist,” Yulia retorted.

“There is one thing that piqued my curiosity,” Rossi admitted. “The international phone card she bought on the 20th, the night before she disappeared.”

“Yes! Thank you! That is most suspicious. What does Little Miss Perfection need with an international phone card? Why not use her cell? Why not use her home phone?” Korsakova demanded.

“Her boyfriend,” Garcia interjected.

“What?”

“I bet she got it for him. Her phone records indicate he called her when she was on her way home. Maybe he asked her to bring him the phone card.”

“Oh. How boring,” Yulia sighed, deflating. 

“Why would he need one?” Torg asked.

“He’s a professional chef from Romania, here on a work visa. But I checked, and that visa is running out soon. Maybe he needed the card to call his family to make arrangements to come home,” Garcia explained.

“Your girlfriend goes missing, and you make arrangements to leave the country? I don’t like the way that feels,” Korsakova murmured.

Morgan nodded in reluctant agreement. 

“What’s his name, this boyfriend?” Korsakova inquired.

“Petru Vasilescu,” Garcia answered.

“May I interrogate him?” Korsakova directed the question at Rossi.

“If it uncovers a lead we can follow, you can interrogate him to your heart’s content,” Dave answered, shrugging one shoulder.

“Lovely. I shall make quick work of the boy, and let you know what the situation is.”

“How is Mouse taking the situation with Reid?” Morgan asked. Yulia avoided eye contact as she decided what to say.

“I have sent Max and Ekatarina back home to Seattle. There is no point in letting the child stay here, being upset, when there is nothing she can do. If there is any change in her papa’s condition, I will send for her, night or day. Your faces? I sound unfeeling, harsh? I don’t mean to seem so. I do understand what she is going through. When my father was killed, I didn’t want to believe that he was dead. I accused my mother of lying to me about what had happened. She locked me in the room with his corpse overnight so I would have to accept what had happened, that he was gone. I couldn’t bear the idea of losing him. I wish to spare Ekatarina that pain, if I can. If she isn’t here, she won’t see if… what I’m saying is…. she understands that I mean well. Surely?”

“Aren’t you afraid she’ll be angry with you for sending her away?” Blake ventured gently.

Korsakova gave a small frown that quivered. “I hope not,” she nibbled out the unsure words. “She can do nothing here. She must understand why I sent her home to Seattle to wait. Surely?”

“You were right to send her back to home,” Rossi interjected. “Sitting around worrying about what might happen, what might go wrong, it isn’t going to help her. It’s not going to help any of us. What we need to do is buckle down and find out who the hell did this, and bring his ass in.”

“Amen,” Morgan agreed.

“I think that means we’re going to have to take a closer look at Ramirez, whether we’ve been asked to do so or not,” Torg interjected, dodging his eyes left, right, left, in case the wait staff at Dmitri’s might be listening.

“No one in Cryptology had any idea this was coming,” Morgan said.

“Including Ramirez, I’m afraid,” Blake interjected.

“They didn’t do anything to cause these attacks. I feel wrong digging into their personal lives this way,” Garcia said.

“Will Khotchner not be angry with you for disobeying?” Korsakova asked, lowering her voice to a whisper as well.

“Won’t Agent Schultz be angry with us?” Blake asked, leaning closer.

“Have we decided yet?” Their waiter bustled up to the table and held up his pen and pad, hanging anxiously in the unusual silence.

“I believe we have,” Rossi nodded. 

The waiter’s eyes landed on Yulia first.

“I would like the Chicken Marsala, but to go, if I may?” Korsakova requested. “Places to go, people to torment.”


	10. Toy Box

10 - Toy Box (Nov 23 – 10 a.m.)

“You want to grab some lunch when we’re done?” Hotch asked Jack. His son sat in the waiting room at Dr. Sharp’s office, kicking his feet back and forth and glaring at the carpet.

“I’m not hungry. I want to see Papa,” Jack muttered.

“He’s in ICU. I can’t even see him except during visiting hours.”

“I want to talk to him,” Jack sulked.

“Jack, he can’t talk to anyone. He’s asleep. We talked about this.”

The other parents in the waiting room were beginning to stare without directly looking at them, eavesdropping without gazing at them. Hotch reached out a hand and stilled Jack’s swinging legs. Jack slapped his father’s hand away and growled angry words at him.

“I don’t believe you!”

“Jack? Why would I lie to you about this?” 

“I want to talk to Papa!” Jack howled loudly, angrily.

Dr. Sharp’s door popped open. He was a round man in his mid-fifties, blessed with infinite patience and a very kind face. He had the kind of friendly personality that put everyone at ease with him. The fact he was willing to open his office to his clients the day after Thanksgiving said a lot about him as a person. Dr. Sharp put on a friendly smile and walked right over to Hotch and Jack.

“Are you ready for our session?” he asked, getting down on one knee and facing Jack.

“No. I don’t want to sit and talk. I don’t want to draw pictures about how I feel. I don’t want to eat lunch. I want to talk to Papa! I want to see Papa!” Jack exclaimed.

“Jack, I’m sorry, but that’s not possible right now,” Hotch insisted.

“Papa is dead, isn’t he? He’s dead and you’re not telling me. He’s dead, just like Mommy is, and IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT!” Jack accused, jumping up out of his chair and flying at Hotch, fists flailing.

Hotch scooped Jack up and held him, suffering through the bites and kicks.

“Come in,” Dr. Sharp motioned. 

Hotch hurried behind as the doctor escorted them through. Once they reached the open door of his private office though, Dr. Sharp stopped Hotch.

“Can’t I…?” Aaron ventured.

“Jack and I need time alone to talk. I will call you in soon,” Sharp promised. He motioned to single plastic chair along the plaid blue wall. Hotch slowly lowered Jack to the floor, and petted his hair. Jack wasn’t kicking and screaming any more. Now he was sobbing. Hotch offered a hand, but Jack turned away from it. He ran into the open office and slammed the door behind himself, leaving Sharp and Hotch both in the hallway. 

“I’m sorry, Doctor,” Hotch cringed.

“Mr. Hotchner, it’s better for Jack to let go of these emotions. It’s not healthy to hold all the hurt inside. You sit here. I’ll call for you soon.”

Aaron put himself slowly down into the odd chair, and leaned his head back against the plaid wall. Dr. Sharp took a deep breath, and breached the closed door. It was oddly quiet, Hotch thought. Too quiet.

The door opened twenty-five minutes later. Sharp appeared. He was carrying a human doll about a foot long, made of cloth, with flexible limbs and a frozen smile on its face. The cloth doll was nude, and clearly male. Hotch found its nakedness startling. He knew intellectually that Dr. Sharp had young patients with whom he discussed child sexual abuse, and that was probably why he had anatomically-correct dolls. But it took Hotch by surprise.

“Join us. Say nothing unless asked,” Sharp insisted.

Hotch was on his feet at once, following the doctor inside. He wasn’t going to question whatever persuasion powers or out-right sorcery Dr. Sharp had summoned to get Jack to talk finally. Hotch’s son held another doll, this one also male. He was pulling clothes onto it. There were many sets of clothes laid out, and many other dolls of both genders in varying flesh tones running every spectrum of humanity.

Hotch immediately recognized that the moveable, interchangeable carpet pieces laid out on the office carpet were set to reflect their driveway and front yard at home. Aaron took a seat on the low sofa nearest to the door. Sharp sat on the floor next to Jack, picking up other dolls.

“How many do we need?” Sharp asked Jack, offering different dolls.

“Three,” Jack said as he was dressing his male doll in slacks and a white shirt. He straightened the light brown hair, and then hunted around in the pile of outfits.

“What do you need?” Sharp wondered.

“A sweater. Papa was wearing a sweater under his coat.”

“Does your Papa wear glasses?” Sharp offered bendable plastic glasses.

“He wasn’t wearing glasses that day,” Jack declined as finished his first doll and picked up another.

“Do you need a car?” 

“Yes.”

“Big or small?”

“Papa’s car is small, but he likes it,” Jack said, setting the first doll next to the car Sharp handed him. The doll dressed as Reid dwarfed the car, but Jack didn’t seem to mind. Jack thought about it for a second, then put the Reid doll by the porch again. He put the other doll against the car.

“Is that the Captain?” Sharp asked, pointing to the second doll.

“Yes, but Captain’s got less hair, and he’s a little tubby,” Jack said. “I need another car,” he added, picking up the third doll and pulling a dress out of the pile of clothes. He stopped, decided no, then hunted some more.

“What do you need?” Sharp wondered, picking up articles of doll clothes and setting them together into distinct outfits. Hotch was quick to catch on that they were different occupations a child might encounter: a mailman, a teacher, a doctor, a nurse, a cowboy, a business man. 

“A coat. A big coat.”

“Here,” Sharp replied, giving him a bright yellow raincoat.

“No. A black coat,” Jack corrected. 

“Black coat. Here.”

Hotch thought this was odd, because Jack’s school coat was brown, not black.

“Wait. Papa needs gloves,” Jack said. “He had his gloves on because it was cold.”

Sharp frowned at the doll clothes. He stood up from the floor and went to his own desk, pulling a pair of gloves from the top drawer.

“He may borrow mine.”

“Thanks,” Jack said as he snatched the gloves and put them down by the Reid doll.

“Where do we begin? Where are you?” Sharp asked.

“Captain said I need my coat, so I went back inside. ‘It’s going to rain tonight’,” Jack grumbled in a deep voice in imitation of Captain Magnusson.

“You went inside for a coat. Is that you?” Sharp asked, pointing to the doll that Jack was holding.

“No,” Jack frowned. “You can’t see me. I’m in the house. The captain was sitting in Bessie. He was turning the key, making the engine go click, click, click. I heard him say ‘she’s not turning over’, and then he told Papa he needed a new car. But that’s not right.”

“Why isn’t it right?” Sharp asked, picking up the doll meant to represent Magnusson. Jack lifted up the car, looking underneath.

“Papa loved Bessie. He tinkers with Bessie if she makes one funny noise. She used to belong to his mommy a long time ago. He learned how to drive in that car. He loves Bessie very much.”

Hotch winced audibly. ‘Oh shit’, he thought. ‘I have to tell Reid about Bessie when he wakes up.’ Since Reid had been hurt, Hotch had been cataloguing all the things he had to tell him about when he woke up. He was so not looking forward to exposing that list, and he groaned as he thought about Reid’s reaction. Sharp narrowed his eyes at Hotch, and Aaron shushed himself, scrunching down in his seat on the low sofa.

“You went inside to get your coat. You turned back to the front door. Is it open or closed?” Sharp asked Jack.

“Open. Goody got out. Papa was by the steps. He saw Goody go past. I thought Papa might chase Goody, but we were running late, so he didn’t chase him at all. He made this face at him though.”

Jack imitated Reid’s unhappy squint. Hotch snickered, and Sharp gave him another look meant to keep him quiet.

“You had your coat. You headed for the open door,” Sharp urged Jack, holding out his hand for the doll that Jack kept on holding. Jack would not give it to him though.

“Bessie was making popping noises. Papa dropped his coffee and his bag, and he ran towards the car,” Jack replied.

“Where were you?”

“I was at the door but not outside. That’s when I saw the other car.”

Jack put the doll dressed in the black coat down on the second car. Hotch inhaled loudly and sat up straight.

“This guy, he was in his car across the street. He’s got the ship plates,” Jack said.

“Ship plates?” Sharp asked.

“The Jamestown Anniversary plates?” Hotch whispered. Jack nodded.

“Go on,” Sharp said, silently giving Hotch permission to speak.

“He had a phone in his hand, and he was looking at Bessie, watching Papa pulling on the Captain.”

“What did the man in the black car do? Did he see you?” Hotch asked.

“No. I wasn’t outside.”

“How do you know Papa was pulling on the Captain?” Aaron wondered.

“I could see him through the front window, over the bushes, same way I could see the guy in the black car, looking out the other windows, towards the other street.”

“You heard Bessie explode?”

“There was a bright flash, and a loud noise. Red stuff hit the front window. Bits and pieces. Smoke and fire. It was raining metal,” Jack shivered.

“What did you do?”

“I grabbed the phone and then I ran to find Papa,” Jack explained, his eyes welling up.

“Where was the Captain?” Sharp asked.

“He was next to Papa,” Jack said. Sharp drew away the car. Jack put both the dolls on the front lawn. It was eerie to see him recreating the crime scene this way.

“What about the man in the black car?” Sharp asked.

“He drove away after Bessie exploded. I didn’t care about him,” Jack whimpered. “I wanted Papa.”

Sharp took away the second car, and the doll meant to represent the man in black.

“Bessie was all messed up. There were flames and burnt metal, like in the movies. She didn’t look like a car anymore. The Captain, he was hurt. One of his legs was sorta gone. It was really gross. His shoe was on the porch. There was blood on the front door,” Jack rambled.

Hotch bit his mouth tight.

“How was Papa?” Sharp asked. Jack picked up the doll that represented Reid, holding it in both hands.

“He was over by the myrtle tree, not the first one, but the second one, way over here. His coat was burned. His hair looked terrible. He was covered with glass – I think from the car window? It was stuck in his side, right here,” Jack pointed on the doll’s left side. “The Captain landed next to him. He was bleeding everywhere,” Jack said. “The Captain wasn’t talking or moving. He looked dead, like in the movies.”

“You don’t watch movies like that, do you?" Sharp asked.

“I do at Bobby’s house. His brother lets us watch them. Soldiers fighting, blowing things up, shooting each other.”

“Did you run over? Papa needed help?” Sharp asked.

“We watch movies with people kissing too,” Jack added, giving Hotch a nervous, guilty look. Hotch sat immobile, not reacting. Sharp nodded his approval.

“Don’t worry. We all watch those sometimes,” Sharp interjected.

“I grabbed the phone off the desk and ran outside,” Jack continued. “I hit the buttons for help: 9-1-1. Daddy taught me how to do that.”

“Did you sit down by Papa?” Sharp whispered. 

“Yes,” Jack replied.

“Was he awake?” the doctor asked.

“He blinked at me a couple times. I don’t know if he could understand me. One of his ears was bleeding. His face was all dirty. He closed his eyes. I held his hand. His gloves were hot. I pulled them off. The lady on the phone said I should go inside and stay there, but I didn’t want to leave Papa alone. What if the guy in the black car came back?”

“Did you tell her that?” Hotch whispered.

“Yes, but she wouldn’t listen to me. I saw Mrs. Gale at her window too.”

“Mrs. Gale? Who is she?” Sharp asked.

“Our nosy neighbor across the street,” Hotch almost smiled.

“I hung up on the police lady and called Aunt Jess,” Jack said.

“Jack, why do you think your Dad is to blame for what happened?” Dr. Sharp wondered.

“He should have been there. He could have chased the guy in the black car. He could have driven me to school, and taken Papa to work. Then Bessie wouldn’t have blown up. Then the Captain wouldn’t be in bits and pieces. He’s dead, isn’t he?”

“Captain Magnusson lost part of his right leg, but he’s going to make it,” Hotch answered softly.

“I don’t believe you. Papa is dead too, but you don’t want to tell me,” Jack accused.

“Jack, Papa is not dead. Can I have him?” Hotch pointed to the doll. Jack handed it carefully to him.

“Don’t hurt him,” Jack frowned.

“I won’t hurt him,” Hotch promised. He undressed the doll, and rooted around in the pile of doll clothes. Sharp anticipated what Hotch was searching for. He rustled around in the toy chest at the front of his desk, and pulled out a small hospital gown.

“Here we are,” he said proudly. Aaron mouthed his thanks, dressed the doll in the gown, and cradled it in his hands.

“Papa has got lots of bumps and bruises, but he’s going to be okay.”

“Why won’t you let me see him?” Jack cried. 

“He’s in ICU.”

“You get to see him.”

“Yes, only during visiting hours. Jack, Papa is asleep right now. He’s in a coma. He can’t talk to you. He can’t tell you stories.”

“I can tell him stories,” Jack said.

“That’s not going to help right now,” Hotch rumbled.

“I heard Aunt Jessica talking to Granny and Grand-dad. She said that people who are asleep at the hospital, that they can hear you when you talk to them, that they know when you’re there with them. I want Papa to know that he’s not alone.”

“Jack, Daddy will ask Dr. Rhodes if you can see your Papa, but you have to be prepared if Dr. Rhodes says no. Daddy can’t control what Dr. Rhodes decides,” Sharp murmured. He picked up the dolls and took their clothes off again.

“Is there anything else you remember about the guy in the black car?” Hotch wanted to know.

“It looked like your car,” Jack replied.

“An SUV? Big? Clean? Neat?”

“Yes, except he likes stickers on the back. Remember when you wouldn’t let me put stickers on your bumper? He let his kids put stickers on the bumper.”

“What kind of stickers?” Hotch asked.

“Baby on Board. It’s pink. Location stickers too.”

“Location what?”

“Papa told me all about them. We watch for them on cars on the highway. He remembers every last one of them. The white ovals with black letters. Mia’s mom has an APN sticker. They went to Maine last year.” 

“Who is Mia?” Hotch asked.

“My friend at school,” Jack said, blushing. “What’s APN mean?”

“Acadia National Park,” Aaron supplied. “What kind of stickers did this guy have?”

“IRQ. AFG. What parks are those?” Jack asked.

“They aren’t parks,” Hotch replied. “Was there anything else on the back of his car?”

“A big W and M in fancy letters.”

“William and Mary College in Williamsburg,” Sharp interjected. Hotch’s face and eyes lit up with excitement.

“Here. Give Papa a kiss. We have to go now,” he said, giving Jack the Reid doll. Jack plunked a kiss on the doll before giving it back to Dr. Sharp.


	11. You Lead, I'll Follow

11 You Lead, I’ll Follow (Nov 24 – 10:00 a.m.)

 

“Shit,” Morgan whispered, staring at the notes that Hotch had scrawled up on the board. Rossi grunted in agreement, standing next to him, sniffing at a mug of old coffee. Hotch came bouncing back into the conference room. He tossed several files down on the table, and came over to stand behind Dave and Derek. 

“I pulled information on all current and ex-military personnel stationed in or around, Williamsburg, Virginia. Those who are not currently deployed overseas. Those who have daughters. Those who drive late-model SUVs. Those who served in Iraq and Afghanistan,” Aaron murmured. 

“Jack needs to be under guard,” Rossi said. 

“If that bastard finds out that Jack saw him, that Jack can identify him….” Morgan shuddered. 

“Jack can’t identify his face, only his car. Jack is under guard, believe me. Where’s…?” Hotch asked, motioning to Korsakova’s brown jacket over the nearby chair. 

“Oh,” Rossi almost smiled. “A little trouble on the home front. She stepped out to make a phone call.”

“Trouble? What kind of trouble?” 

“I don’t know, but she got a call that made her jump right out of her chair. She ran out of here, shouting in Russian,” Dave shrugged. “Shh. Here she comes,” he cringed. 

They all three turned to face Korsakova as she came back into the conference room, muttering to herself in at least two languages. 

“When I get my hands on that dyevushka….” she was whispering. 

“Everything all right?” Hotch wondered. 

“I’m afraid I must leave you. Return to Seattle. There has been a bit of trouble at home. I will give you my report, and then I must go.” 

“I understand,” Hotch nodded. “Is Mouse okay?”

“At least until I get home, then the girl will not be able to sit down for a month,” Yulia threatened. 

“What did she do?” Morgan worried. 

Korsakova snatched up her attaché and dug through it, bringing Aaron a folder from inside. 

“I forget at times what a crafty child she is. She used the credit card that Dr. Reid gave her for emergencies. She booked a flight back here to Washington, and ran away from home.” 

“Uh oh,” Morgan breathed. 

“She got as far as Detroit, but her Dyadya Val was able to intercept her. Her ‘uncle’ pulled a few strings to find out her itinerary, and was able to catch her between flights.” 

“How did she give Max the slip?” Hotch asked. 

“They were grocery shopping. She excused herself to attend the ladies room, and walked right out the door.” 

“Why didn’t Max call you?” 

“He was too embarrassed, I suspect. He contacted his brother in Anaheim, and Val was able to nab Ekatarina in Detroit.”

“Why didn’t Max report Mouse missing? Why didn’t the Seattle police contact you?” 

“I will find out soon enough. This all happened last night. Max and Val called me this morning, only after they had Ekatarina back. Probably the wisest decision for them to make, considering the circumstances. Please. There is no time to explain further. I must hurry, before she manages to escape them again,” she added, pushing the file at Aaron. 

“What did you learn from Vasilescu last night?” Morgan asked. 

“He did in fact ask Agent Davies to bring him an international phone card. His intention was first to call and ask his mother to make arrangements for him to come home, but after Agent Davies disappeared on the morning of the 21st, he called his mother back and asked her to intercede on his behalf, to ask the authorities to allow him more time to remain here, at least until April has been located. He is quite smitten with the girl, and she with him he says, and it’s sweet, I suppose, two young people in love. He could not stop talking about how wonderful she is. April is the woman he is meant to spend the rest of his life with, and Petru cannot leave now, not when she is missing and could be in danger. He was going to propose marriage to her on New Year’s Eve.” 

“Do you believe him?” Hotch asked. 

“He showed me the ring. He’s been saving for months for it. He was going to propose, and ask April to move to Romania with him. Or he would move here permanently, whichever April preferred. He even gave me his mother’s information so that I might contact her and verify the details of his story.”

“Did you contact his mother?” Rossi asked. 

“Yes,” Korsakova murmured, her brow furrowing. 

“What?” Hotch asked. 

“The mother. Something she said. I do not feel she is as excited about the girl as Petru is.” 

“Not unusual,” Rossi smiled. 

“I can’t put my finger on it,” Yulia murmured. “I also contacted the Romanian authorities as well.” 

“Why?” Derek wondered. 

“I put in a good word for the boy, in hopes of extending his visa for him for a few weeks. I must go now, but, Aaron, when Spencer wakes up, please do not tell him about this mischief with Miss Mouse. It would only worry him unnecessarily.” 

“I won’t tell him,” Hotch promised. “As soon as there are any changes, I’ll call you. Thanks for your help. I’m sorry you can’t stay.”

“Me too. I feel useless, not helping solve this, having to leave in the middle. But Ekatarina, she comes first,” Yulia insisted.

“We’ll call you,” Hotch promised. 

Korsakova nodded and hurried for the door. She nearly ran over Garcia on the ramp. Penelope jumped back, then straightened her sweater and her dangling earrings.

“Good morning, Sunshine. Please tell us you have some good news,” Morgan beamed at her when she entered the conference room. 

“First tell me you love me,” Garcia purred. 

“I love you,” Derek answered. 

“We all love you,” Hotch growled impatiently. “Could you just please tell us what you found out?” 

“JJ brought me Dr. Ramirez’s home laptop – Schultz okayed its release. Although the doctor deleted his messages, he didn’t erase them off the hard drive. I was able to piece them together again. I’ll have them all printed out and sorted in chronological order before lunch.”

“Hot damn! Progress!” Rossi exclaimed. 

“Give them to Dr. Blake as soon as they pop out of the printer,” Hotch demanded. “What’s your preliminary impression?” 

“Dr. Ramirez might not have had friends in the real world, but he was apparently quite the chatterbox with this anonymous source. Where was Korsakova off to?” Garcia asked as Yulia dove into an open elevator and disappeared. 

“Mouse gave Max the slip, booked a flight back to DC, and was all the way to Detroit before she was stopped,” Morgan answered. 

“That girl….” Garcia whistled softly, shaking her head. 

“What are you smiling about?” Rossi asked Hotch. Aaron gave a one shoulder shrug. 

“Reid would be so proud of her,” Hotch whispered back. 

“Yeah, he probably would,” Morgan laughed. 

“What kind of messages was Dr. Ramirez sending to this source?” Hotch asked Garcia. 

“Book excerpts. You should see what’s in this man’s Kindle account!”

“We could sure use a speed reader right about now,” Rossi said sadly. 

“Yes, we could,” Hotch agreed grimly. “Or a well-trained librarian.” 

“Ramirez didn’t happen to call this source by a name, did he?” Morgan asked. 

“That’s the only odd thing,” Garcia replied. “Never once does Ramirez call this guy by a name. He uses honorifics—sir, your grace, your highness, your excellency – whatever happens to be in the book the excerpts are taken from, but never once does he use a proper and real name for him.” 

“That’s mighty weird,” Hotch agreed. 

“Which has me thinking,” Garcia said. “What if Dr. Ramirez didn’t know Anonymous’ s real name either?” 

“That would definitely complicate matters,” Hotch decided grimly.


	12. Three Rules

12 - Three Rules (Nov 24 – 6 p.m.)

 

“There are three rules to this assignment, Honeywell, and they are as follows. Never. Underestimate. Dr. Spencer Reid,” General Scott explained as he lifted three fingers one at a time.

“That’s only one rule,” the second man pointed out as he hurried to keep up with the General, who was rushing through the parking garage next to the hospital. 

“I’ve been in charge of surveillance on Dr. Reid for many years. In that time, he’s been shot, stabbed, set on fire at least twice, physically molested more than once, been in two serious car crashes, been blown up now and again. He’s been kidnapped, Hell, I don’t know how many fucking times because I’ve lost track. This is only the latest in a series of unfortunate events, as they say.” 

“Sounds like Captain Magnusson was lucky.”

“Extremely lucky. Matts lasted five years. That’s amazing. Astounding. Improbable. I usually ask no more than two years, three at the maximum, with the exception of Lieutenant Franklin, who has stayed this long not only because he’s an exceptional soldier and an amazing shot, but also because he has experience as a medic on the battlefield. That has come in handy on more than one occasion.” 

“In saving Dr. Reid?”

“In saving my surveillance team,” Scott replied dryly. 

“So why am I here?” the young man asked. 

“What do you mean? You’re here because I sent for you. That’s why you’re here. What other reason do you need?” General Scott barked back. “If you successfully complete this tour of duty, I will write you a sparkling recommendation that will get you a posting anywhere, anytime, any place you want to go.”

“Yes, sir!”

“But first, you have to survive,” General Scott reminded him. 

“Who else do you have on your team?”

“Captain Spaulding will brief you on what you need to know. She’ll meet you upstairs. She’s with the doctor now in ICU.”

“Captain Spaulding. What does she look like?”

“What the hell does that matter?” 

“How will I know her when I see her?” 

“Son, she’s gonna stand out. She’ll be the only woman in a military uniform. She’ll have a gun strapped to her side. You got any other stupid questions, or can I leave you to it?” 

“No, sir. No more stupid questions.” 

“Good. Now get your ass up there and be useful to Spaulding.”

“Yes, sir!”

In fact, Captain Spaulding was very easy to spot. She wasn’t sitting outside anyone’s hospital room. She was pacing back and forth at the end of the bed of a prone, comatose, nearly-bald, very thin man. The captain was bawling the unconscious man out as she walked off the nervous energy in her system. 

“I don’t understand how you get yourself into these situations, Doc, but it’s got to stop. You’re going to end up dead. You’ve used up more lives than a cat, but that luck is not going to hold out. You know what I’m saying? Jesus Christ, Matts is alive by the skin of his teeth! He doesn't remember a thing about what happened. When I told him you pulled him out of a burning car, he threatened to hobble down here and smack you. He couldn’t believe you had been so stupid.”

She stopped talking when Honeywell walked in. He had never endured such a staring-down in his life. He tried to study the Captain in turn without being obvious about it. She was in her late twenties. She had blonde hair cut short to the top of her shoulders. She had stern eyes. She was of medium height and medium build. She had gray dog hairs on her lower pants leg. 

“Captain Spaulding? General Scott sent me.” 

“You must be Ensign Honeywell.”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“Navy?”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“What does he have against the Coast Guard?” she wondered to herself. “What did you do to get rooked into this assignment, Ensign?” she asked him directly. 

“Um…not sure what you mean, ma’am.” 

“Honeywell, it works like this. I ask a question. You provide an answer.”

“Yes, ma’am. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“What’s your specialty then?” Spaulding asked. The captain’s bars on her uniform were bright and new. It occurred to Honeywell that the exit of Captain Magnusson had meant the promotion of Captain Spaulding, and that maybe she was being rough with him because she was still becoming accustomed to command.

“I make a mean Western omelet,” Honeywell smiled, giving her a small wink on the side. She narrowed her eyes and lowered her brow, but her face fell neutral as she glanced quickly up at the doorway. 

“Spaulding, if you’re going to kill him, don’t do it in here. I’m in no mood for gore tonight,” a dark-haired man in his late-forties murmured tiredly. 

“Yes, sir,” Spaulding replied. 

The man slid soundlessly into the hospital room, and hung up his charcoal gray coat on the hook behind the door. He put a cup of coffee down on the table beside the bed, and spoke to the man lying quietly in repose. 

“You have to share a cup with me. They wouldn’t let me bring you one of your own,” he said. 

“Sorry, Agent Hotchner. I’ll take Ensign Honeywell here out in the hall and give you some privacy,” Spaulding said. 

“Bad case of sassy mouth?” the man whispered to Spaulding, who gave him half a smile before pointing to the bed. 

“Dr. Reid was dreaming earlier. I observed dreaming eye movement. Also, he growled at me when I straightened his blanket.” 

“A growl? That’s progress,” the tired man nodded, looking slightly more cheerful. It was completely improbable that Reid had in any way responded to Spaulding, but it made Hotch feel better that she wanted to make him feel better with that small lie. He wondered if it was possible to dream while in a coma. Unfortunately, the person he would have asked about this possibility was the one lying unresponsive in the bed. 

Spaulding headed for the door, and held it open so Honeywell would follow. He tucked himself together and tiptoed in her wake. The door swung closed, and he expected her to launch into him, but instead she stood outside the room, watching inside through the window-wall. 

The dark-haired man bent down to the comatose figure and dotted a gentle kiss on his bruised forehead. Then he scooted a chair close, pulled a paperback book out of his attaché, and turned to the middle where a bookmark held his place. 

“So Doc and the Marshal, they were tied up and left for dead in the abandoned mine shaft. Their only hope was that Morgan would be able to follow their trail and rescue them in time.” 

Spaulding tilted her head and gave a forlorn sigh before she pulled on Honeywell’s arm to drag him to the end of the hall. 

“Ma’am, I’m sorry. That was completely inappropriate,” Honeywell said as he hung his head in shame. 

“Ensign, while I can appreciate the lift in morale that the occasional wise-crack can bring, I don’t need a comedian on this team. What I’m interested in is someone who will follow my orders at once without having to decide first if he accept commands from a female superior officer without compromising his fragile pride. You would not have joked like that on your first meeting with a male superior officer, am I right?”

“No, ma’am.” 

“But because I’m a woman, you felt you would pour on the charm to work yourself into my good graces?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“Don’t ever be charming with me again, Ensign Honeywell. Is that clear?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“Would you have winked at a male superior officer?” 

“No, ma’am.” 

“Don’t ever wink at me again, Ensign Honeywell.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he winced. 

“We are not going to date. We are not going to screw around. You will not charm your way into my heart in order to make this job easier on yourself. Are we clear?”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“If my gender is going to be a problem for you, Ensign, you can march yourself back to General Scott, and he will return you to whatever detail he pulled you away from.” 

“No, ma’am. It won’t be a problem. I won’t do it again.”

“Good. I’ll be brief. This is not a complicated task, on the surface. In short, we rotate shifts, keeping surveillance on Dr. Reid.”

“The guy in the bed?” 

“Yes, the guy in the bed.” 

“Why?”

“To study his movements. To make sure he stays out of trouble.”

“How much trouble can he get into?” 

“You’d be amazed,” Spaulding chuckled mirthlessly. 

“How did he wind up in here?” 

“Car bomb.” 

“What?” Honeywell gasped. “Who would….?” 

“I don’t know. Nobody knows yet. Hotch and his team are working on it. That’s not going to be a problem, is it?” 

“Is what?” 

“Dr. Reid and SSA Hotchner? They’re partners. They live together. They fornicate like wild rabbits. They do illicit things with standard-issue handcuffs. Reid likes the occasional spanking. Does this bother you?” 

“No,” Honeywell replied. “Who doesn’t like the occasional spanking?” he added. He caught himself after the words were out, and bit his mouth closed tight. 

Spaulding raised a brow at him, but let it slide. “I will introduce you to the other team members in turn. You will shadow me for a while, at least until I’m convinced you’re safe to turn loose on your own. Do you follow me so far, Ensign?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“You don’t need to call me ‘ma’am’ all the time,” she sighed. 

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’ll ask Miles to whip up a quick tutorial to get you familiar with the people in Dr. Reid’s life, so you don’t go shooting anyone for no good reason.” 

“Who is Miles?” 

“Lieutenant Miles MacPhail, our technology specialist. He’s supposed to be here any minute to take over for me. We overlap shifts so we can brief each other on the events of the previous hours.”

The arrow buttons for the elevator banks next to them dinged and lit up. The wood panel doors slid quietly open. A plump blonde woman in a bright red coat stepped out, her nose buried in the computer tablet in her grasp. The woman stopped when she nearly collided with Spaulding and Honeywell. She lifted her head, and smiled at them. 

“Nice to see you again, ma’am,” she said to Spaulding. 

“You too, Agent Garcia,” Spaulding nodded. Garcia’s eyes fell on Honeywell. 

“New kid?” she asked Spaulding. 

“Yeah,” Spaulding sighed. “Magnusson has decided it’s time to retire. I get bumped up, and a new kid comes on.” 

“How is the grumpy Swede?” 

“He was in a pretty bad mood when I looked in on him.” 

“Grumpy trumps dead most days of the week,” Garcia replied. 

“Well, the Captain will come around to that soon enough. He’s having a hard time dealing with the idea of being rescued by someone he was there to protect. It’s not sitting well with him. I think his worst injury is his bruised ego.” 

“Is Hotch here?” 

“He’s reading another one of those cheesy pulp westerns to Dr. Reid,” Spaulding replied. Garcia’s round face filled with sympathy. “Ensign Honeywell, please escort Agent Garcia to Dr. Reid’s room, and wait outside for me. I’ll be right back. Gonna find out what’s keeping Miles.”


	13. Your Grimness

13 - Your Grimness (Nov 24 – 6:15 p.m.)

 

Garcia tapped gently on the hospital room door before she opened it a crack. Hotch was reading aloud in two different voices. He hadn’t heard Penelope’s knock. 

“ ‘Doc, this isn’t the time or the place for what you appear to have in mind,’ the Marshal croaked in a rough voice as the young man’s thin fingers crept backwards down the beaten man’s bruised side. Doc and the Marshal were tied back to back with a wooden pillar between them. They had less than half an hour to work their way out of this mess before the rising waters from the flooding river would fill these mines to their brim. Their dire straits didn’t prevent Doc from seeing the humor in the situation. 

‘This from the man who wanted to get frisky with me on a moving train in broad daylight?’ Doc chided. “ ‘Hey, Doc? Why don’t you sit on my lap and guess what’s in my pocket?’ ‘ 

Doc’s imitation of the Marshal’s sly tone made the Marshal smile. He was remembering that train ride too. 

‘There wasn’t anyone else in the train car with us. Besides, I won’t apologize. You turn me on, and trains turn me on. You and trains together are practically irresistible,’ the Marshal replied as a crooked grin traced his mouth. Doc coughed up a chuckle, his fingers prowling into the Marshal’s pocket. 

‘Where is your pen knife?’ Doc asked. 

‘All you’re after is my pen knife?’ the Marshal gasped. He sounded vaguely insulted, and disappointed to boot.’

‘Don’t fret, Marshal. I’ll get to the rest of you soon enough,’ Doc promised. 

"Oh! Hi,” Hotch jolted, closing the book when he sensed Garcia was behind him. “He likes these. There’s always at least one of them in his satchel. Another in the car. Who knows how many in his head?” 

“Sorry to intrude,” Garcia whispered. 

“Talk as loud as you want. You aren’t going to wake him,” Hotch sighed, putting the book down on the table and picking up the cup of coffee. It was beginning to grow cold, but he took a gulp anyway. Hotch held Reid’s nearest hand, caressing it with broad of his thumb. He was unable to tear his eyes away from Reid’s face. 

“We could take turns reading to him,” Garcia offered. Hotch shook his head no, whether out of a sense of duty or a flash of possessive jealousy. 

“What do you need? What brings you over here?” he asked. 

“I gave Dr. Blake the messages from Dr. Ramirez’s computer. She’s on top of them, promises a full report as soon as possible. Morgan asked me to bring you these reports about the explosive devices. He finished piecing them together. Rossi wants to know if you’re eating dinner anytime tonight, because he’s cooking at his place, and he’s happy to set a place for you and for Jack too.”

“Jack is with Jess. I’ve got to…I….” 

“Me, well, I’m here to check up Reid, and also to check on you, your Grimness.” 

“Did you go over those files I pulled on the military and former military with ties to Williamsburg and William and Mary College?” 

“Yes, sir. SSA Schultz’s team tracked down each of the vehicles, and found that the one belonging to Bill Price had the exact plates and stickers that Jack recalled.”

“Then we bring in Bill Price!”

“Schultz did, sir. Price’s vehicle was stolen on the 20th. He filled out a police report, did all the proper steps. Someone took the vehicle right out of his driveway.”

“Damn it,” Hotch whispered. 

“However, the manner and execution theft of the vehicle may have given us several viable clues about our unsub’s personality.”

“How so?” 

“Mr. Price left his SUV running in the driveway with his four year old daughter Olive sitting in her carseat in the back. He popped into the house for his wallet, which was in the living room. He was gone maybe two minutes. He heard nothing out of the ordinary. He stepped back out of the house to find Olive standing next to the flower bed beside the driveway. Someone had put on her hat, and zipped up her coat.”

Hotch stared at Garcia and tilted his head to one side as he narrowed his dark eyes. 

“The thief took the time to pull the child out of the car?” 

“Zipped up her coat too,” Penelope stressed. 

“What’s the matter with this guy? Why would he risk that?”

“His treatment of Olive would seem to suggest that he has a personal moral code that prevents him from harming children.” 

“We can only hope,” Hotch shuddered, thinking about Jack, who was staying the night at Aunt Jessica’s house, with Ensign Arthur James keeping an eye on him. 

“I hope that also bodes well for Agent Davies,” Garcia added. 

“Still no sign of her?” Hotch asked. 

“None, sir,” Penelope replied. 

“Why is she gone?” Hotch asked. 

“If we approach this question from logic alone,” Penelope began, lifting Hotch up out of the chair, taking the book out of his hands, “there are only two possible answers. She left of her own accord, or she did not leave of her own accord.”

“She fled because she was in fear for her safety?” Hotch questioned as Garcia steered him towards the door where his coat was hanging. 

“Maybe she saw this guy, and maybe she had an inkling that he meant to do her harm.”

“But her clothes and her purse were at her apartment,” Hotch countered. “We’ve seen this in countless other missing persons cases. If a woman is missing and her purse is gone, she usually has left of her own accord. If a woman is missing, and her purse remains at the initial scene, then she did not leave of her own accord. There’s no indication Davies even got dressed. Her pajamas were there, the shower was wet, and her work clothes were laid out and ready.”

“That would seem to indicate that Agent Davies did not leave on her own,” Garcia agreed, pulling Hotch’s coat on him and slowly buttoning up the front of it. 

“Why?” Hotch demanded, narrowing his eyes as she buttoned up his coat.

“No woman I know would leave her apartment naked unless she had no choice,” Penelope replied. Hotch agreed with a nod. 

“Whoever this guy is, this accomplice, he takes out Rockford, Larsson, and Reid without any qualms. He goes for Davies.”

“He catches her in between the shower and her clothes,” Garcia shivered. 

“Instead of killing her on the spot, he takes her with him. But why? It doesn’t make sense to complicate the situation by taking a hostage, unless he means to use her as leverage,” Hotch said. 

“Maybe she’s like Olive? Maybe this guy is old enough that a young woman in her twenties seems but a child to him.”

“He only knows the members of the Cryptology Department by Ramirez’s descriptions. He didn’t get close enough to Rockford, Reid, or Larsson to see them as people. But he was face to face with Davies,” Hotch speculated. “Being face to face with her made her more human. It made all the difference in the world.” 

“He could not hurt her face to face. She’s seen him, can identify him, so he can’t leave her there as a witness, but he can’t bring himself to kill her either,” Garcia replied.

“Was there something about her that struck a chord with him? She’s very young, and she was vulnerable as you can be in front of another person.” 

“Maybe he has a daughter?”

“Maybe he lost his daughter? This is nothing but speculation. It won’t get us anywhere,” Hotch sighed. “What are you doing?” 

“You head over to Rossi’s for dinner, and then head home. Get some sleep. I’ll keep Reid company. Where’d you leave off?” Garcia asked, swiping up the book off the table and turning pages. 

“I should stay.” 

“I’ll stay. You should go eat, and get some rest,” Penelope insisted, shooing Hotch out the hospital room door and closing it tight. Aaron tried the handle. Penelope had locked it. She waved from inside the room, and turned back to face the bed. Hotch took a deep breath and finally noticed Honeywell was standing next to him. The young man gave a faint smile. 

“I guess you’re the new kid?” Hotch asked sourly. 

“Yes, sir,” Honeywell replied. 

“A word of advice? Don’t give Spaulding a hard time. She’s a good person, an excellent officer, and a superior soldier. You could learn a lot from her if you stop being a wise ass.” 

“Yes, sir. Do you need me to send for a car for you?”

“No. My car’s downstairs,” Hotch refused politely. 

“Don’t worry, sir. Dr. Reid is in good hands,” he promised. 

Hotch glanced in the room at Garcia, who had taken off her coat and was getting comfortable in the chair beside the bed. 

“Yes, yes, he is,” Aaron agreed.


	14. Brainstorm

14 - Brainstorm (Nov 25 – 10 a.m.)

 

“I thought it was time we brainstorm together for a change, since we’re all working the same angle suddenly. In case we haven’t all been properly introduced,” SSA Schultz began as he stared around the conference room table which was crowded with chairs. “SSA Hotchner, Agent Morgan, Agent Jareau, Agent Rossi, Dr. Blake, Technical Analyst Garcia, Agent Aguilar, Agent Torgeson, Agent Henderson, Agent Thomas, Agent Fletcher, Dr. Lind. Am I missing anyone?” 

“What happened to the Russian linguist?” one of Schultz’s team popped up. It was Dr. Lind – an average-looking middle-aged woman with black and gray hair and shrewd eyes which she hid behind wire glasses.

“She had to fly back to Seattle unexpectedly,” Hotch answered. 

Dr. Lind looked to Agent Aguilar. They were close in age, but couldn’t have looked more unalike. Where Lind was bland and forgettable, Aguilar was not. He was a heavy-set Hispanic male, wearing a beautiful wedding ring studded with small diamonds, and he had an exquisite taste in silk ties and very expensive suits. 

“Is she kosher?” a different agent asked. He was younger than everyone else there – no more than twenty five. He was probably fresh out of the Academy this year. 

“Are you asking if she’s Jewish, or if she’s reliable?” Rossi wanted to know. 

“What Fletcher wants to ask is if we can trust her,” Schultz interceded. 

“Korsakova and Dr. Reid have been acquainted for many years. They have worked as adversaries and as allies. She would have no reason to mislead us in this matter, nothing to gain from deceit,” Hotch answered carefully. Schultz gave his youngest agent a searching look, and Fletcher shrugged one shoulder. 

“She weirded me out, that’s all,” Fletcher explained. 

“She’s a cougar, William, but she clearly has a preference for skinny intellectuals,” Dr. Lind interjected with a wry smile. “It would therefore be safe to conclude she wouldn’t have any interest in you.” 

Schultz’s team chuckled together, even Fletcher. 

“Back on the case, people,” Schultz corralled them quickly and effortlessly. 

“Korsakova has helped us in the past. She’s reliable,” Hotch vouched, wishing the rest of his team wouldn’t be so quiet on the topic. Maybe they didn't want to speak out of turn, and risk contradicting Hotch, but he could have done without JJ's eye-rolling. Lind picked up on that right away. His team had their own issues with Korsakova. He couldn’t deny that he once felt the same way, but over the months, he had grown to trust her more and more, maybe because he had seen how much she genuinely cared about Reid, and how much she loved their daughter. 

“Did you find anything useful in Dr. Reid’s letters?” Schultz asked Hotch. 

“Nothing that would lead us to the identity of the accomplice. Nothing that we didn’t already know,” Hotch replied. “The environment in Cryptology was hostile long before Reid joined them, but once he came on board, it went from bad to worse.” 

“Agent Rabovsky was handed that command with the hopes she would fail. Strauss set her up to get rid of her, to keep her from competing for upper management positions. We all know how Strauss can be about taking out those she perceives as a threat to her own job security,” Lind observed, giving Hotch a dry but amused glance. Maybe she had heard the rumors about how Strauss had plotted against Hotch for years and years, or maybe she had been victim to Strauss’s plans before herself. “I’m sure Strauss didn’t want to see Rabovsky fail in the sense that this all came down, but Strauss put Rabovsky in charge of an impossible department in hopes of discrediting her ability to successfully supervise other agents,” Dr. Lind amended her harsh criticism. Eyes and ears were everywhere. 

“At least Major Rabovsky has finally surfaced,” Aguilar commented disapprovingly. "If my Maria had been hurt, I'd've swam home if I had to, to be by her side," he added, putting a hand over his heart. 

“He landed this morning at Andrews. Angie is with him now. He plans to be stateside until his wife permits otherwise,” Schultz reported. “What all did you learn from the other members of the department?” 

“Dr. Jung’s husband begged and pleaded with her not to return. He was having premonitions that something bad would happen to her, and she had misgivings of her own, and so she decided not to return once her maternity leave had ended,” Torg replied, flipping through his notes. Dr. Lind agreed. 

“Andy the former admin left because John Rockford cornered her in his office, and put his hands up her skirt. After weeks and months of being told no, he decided he would take a more direct approach in wooing her. If Ramirez had not walked in on them, who knows what would have happened?” Thomas said. He was a big Caucasian man with broad shoulders, red-blond hair, a red face, and a big nose. He looked humorless even when he smiled. Hotch kept picturing him in a metal helmet with a nasal shield. It might have had something to do with his gruff voice and Germanic apperance.

“I don’t think we need a crystal ball. It’s pretty clear what would have happened,” Blake remarked. “So you’re saying the only reason Rockford was friendly to Ramirez was to keep Ramon from spilling the details of Rockford’s attempt to rape Andy.”

“Why didn’t she report him?” Morgan asked. 

"Maybe she misunderstood," Thomas offered. Every women in the room gave him a sharp look, and a few of the men did as well. "I went to the Academy the same time as Rockford. We had a couple courses together. I've worked with him before. He's a damn good agent. He and Sharon have been happily-married for eighteen years." 

“Probably Andy didn't report Rockford because she didn’t think anyone would believe her,” Blake frowned. “Rockford has been an agent for twenty years, with no disciplinary marks on his record, although he has been asked to take the diversity and sensitivity training sessions four times each. Andy didn’t want to have to fight him. It was easier to leave.” 

"Because she had no proof to back up her allegations," Thomas unwisely opened his mouth again, and kind and motherly Dr. Blake took of her gloves, so to speak, by responding with a venomous rebuttle. 

"Don't deceive yourself about your friend, Agent Thomas. Predatory men like that know who they can target. They go for submissive women with low self-confidence, ones they know from experience are unlikely to report inappropriate actions, either out of fear of their attacker, or out of fear of retaliation from fellow agents far more concerned about protectng the reputation of a 'good man' than about getting to the truth. Men like Rockford wear one mask for the rest of the world, and another mask when facing the women they hunt. That doesn't mean Dr. Rockford wasn't guilty of the allegations. It means Andy was afraid to confront him, and then have to fight his friends too." 

"I suppose he put his hands up your skirt too?" Thomas asked. 

"Drop the subject, if you please. We have no proof either way, and it's not a matter we're here to pursue, right or wrong," Schultz insisted. Thomas backed down. Blake leveled a basilisk-like gaze at Thomas, but she acquiesed to Schultz's plea. 

“So Andy left, and Hilda came on. Who assigned Hilda to the Cryptology department? Was she there at Rabovsky’s request?” JJ wondered.

“No. Strauss assigned her. Although nothing is mentioned in the official reports, I believe Strauss figured out why Andy wanted to transfer out of Cryptology. Strauss has worked with Rockford before, and she would no doubt have noted his propensity for hyper-masculine sexual dominant advances towards his more-submissive subordinate female co-workers. Jung said he even made a play for her when she first joined Cryptology, but he didn't factor in that she is the daughter of a world-renowned martial arts expert." Aguilar scanned their faces. No one bit. "Her mother is Lee 'Little Viper' Jung," he added. "You must remember her. She took the martial arts world by storm in the late 60's and early 70's, got famous, made some commercials, made a few movies during the late 70's, and then she opened a martial arts school in Sausalito. Dr. Jung spent her childhood in a dojo." 

Morgan's eyes lit up brightly. He was actually giddy for a split-second. He might have been having a fan-boy moment. Garcia noted this with a smile. 

"How badly did Dr. Jung hurt Rockford?" Morgan smiled. 

"Baby Viper flipped Rock ass-over-appetite, laid him out on the lunchroom floor, and put her fist in his face. Told him in no uncertain terms that if he touched her again, he was toast," Aguilar smiled. Morgan looked so proud. 

"Dr. Rockford clearly understood his limits with Dr. Jung. It could be that she spoke off the record with Strauss and Rabovsky both. Either way, Strauss figured out why Andy wanted out, and she replaced Andy with someone Rockford was not going to chase around his desk,” Dr. Lind answered. 

“Okay then. Hilda isn’t facing the same obstacles in Cryptology that Andy faced, but she brings her own set of problems with her,” Rossi surmised. 

“She's deeply religious, and has a massive superiority complex,” Fletcher said. "It's been mentioned in every performance review since she joined the Bureau in the 80's."

"Who better to give Rockford a guilt trip about his bad behavior?" Schultz speculated. 

“What is the deal with the malfunctioning phone system?” Hotch asked. “Andy didn’t report any problems, and it’s the same phone system.” 

“Oh, that’s where it gets interesting,” Dr. Lind murmured. “We went over the department phone system with a fine-toothed comb. Hilda pretended she was bad with technology, that she couldn’t get the hang of the system interchange, and that’s why there were so many problems with the crossed lines and bleed-through with the calls being audible on other open lines. However, we dug into Hilda’s computer systems, and found out she had been recording everyone’s phone calls since she started.”

“To what end?” Blake asked. JJ squirmed in her seat and shot Hotch a nervous glance. He didn’t respond. 

“Prurient curiosity?” Morgan suggested. “Blackmail material?” 

“Salacious wank material?” Penelope smirked. 

“Any chance she got a recording of Ramirez talking to the unsub?” Hotch hoped. 

“No. I sat through so many hours of recordings. Nothing between Ramirez and Anonymous. It’s a dead end,” Henderson interjected. He was a black man around forty, with graying temples. He wore a wedding ring on one hand and a ring with the Marine insignia on the other. 

“Would you mind if I listened too?” Hotch asked. 

“Not at all, sir. I’ll get you those tapes,” Henderson agreed. 

“Hotch, I could…” JJ started to offer. 

“No. I’ll do it,” Hotch answered. Jareau developed a greenish tinge around the gills. 

“Where are we on Sergeant Price’s missing vehicle?” Schultz asked. 

“Bill Price’s vehicle was located in Fairfax, clean as a whistle,” Thomas reported. 

“No chance of pulling fiber or hair evidence?” Morgan wondered. 

“We brought the SUV back to the Bureau’s forensics lab, but don’t hold your breath,” Thomas reported. “It was vacuumed clean and whoever drove it last wrapped the seat in plastic before sitting down in it again. This guy is professional. He knew what he was doing. He washed that car front to back, top to bottom. He even vacuumed the ceiling carpet. Swear to God. This guy is a ghost, and he’s turned Davies into a ghost too.” 

“Regardless of what has probably happened, we will keep looking for Agent Davies until we find her, dead or alive,” Schultz responded, giving the bigger, older man a sharp glance. “Agent Morgan, would you go with Agent Thomas to forensics and see what you can learn from Mr. Price’s vehicle? Is there any evidence that Agent Davies was in this vehicle? Even a scrap of evidence would help.” 

“Yes, sir,” Morgan agreed once Hotch nodded his approval. 

“What other avenues of investigation do you want us to pursue, Schultz?” Henderson asked, shuffling his files over and pulling one to the top. “I’m not coming up with anything shocking or terribly criminal in regards to Dr. Ramirez. I got nothing from his family. They aren’t close, actually haven’t been in contact in years. His last girlfriend was a dead end. He never showed any signs of violence towards her. She said she would classify him as very insecure and clingy, but it was his growing paranoia that drove her away. That and the shouting match with the neighbor.” 

“What was that all about?” Hotch asked.

“They were quarreling over parking spots at the apartment complex. Night after night, the doctor would come home to find this neighbor guy had parked in his spot,” Henderson commented. 

“I understand that kind of anger,” Rossi chirped. 

“He didn’t steal the whole spot, only part of it. He had one of those big vehicles that took up more than his own spot, so he would park far enough into Ramirez’s space that the doctor couldn’t park is own car there. He also dinged Ramirez’s car several times opening his car doors,” Henderson added. 

“So the neighbor was taking up two spots?” Rossi asked. 

“Yeah. Ramirez put up with it for months and months, and then it finally pushed him over the edge. He waited in the parking lot for the neighbor to return, and threatened him with all manner of bodily dismemberment if he ever parked over the line into Ramirez’s spot again,” Henderson replied. 

“Ramirez was a small guy. I can’t see him being that intimidating,” Morgan murmured. 

“He managed to be intimidating enough that the neighbor got scared and called the police. Ramirez was arrested, but the charges were eventually dropped, and the case was dismissed,” Henderson reported. 

Schultz looked to Aguilar as a slow smile spread over the round man’s face. "What are you thinking?” 

“It's territorial. This neighbor was horning in on Ramirez’s space. Ramirez acted out towards him. Dr. Reid was horning in on Ramirez’s space, and again, Ramirez acted out. That would seem to be our parallel.” 

“I’m with you. So far, so good,” Schultz agreed. 

“The Anonymous Source sends out these messages, hoping to get a response. He needs someone to talk to. These messages land in Ramirez’s lap because initially, they were thought to be about smuggling, gun running, black market goods.”

“Yes.” 

“Dr. Ramirez reaches out because he’s drawn to him. Maybe he senses the unsub is lonely, and that they are kindred spirits. Ramon reaches out. The unsub reaches back. They connect on their own level, and start to share a dialogue through the books that they have in common.”

“We follow you,” Morgan murmured, leaning closer across the table. Agent Aguilar’s eyes narrowed. 

“With Dr. Ramirez’s death, Anonymous Source is without a friend once again, but he grew to appreciate, even to need that outlet, that comfort. I believe he may have taken Agent Davies on the spur of the moment, but he’s keeping her because he hopes she will fill the role that Dr. Ramirez filled before. Wasn’t she a librarian before Rabovsky had her reassigned to assist Dr. Reid?” 

“Correct,” Hotch nodded. 

“A well-educated woman would appeal to him. But the question is how Davies is holding up. Is it purely intellectual, or is it a sexual attraction? Is Davies smart enough to play him along, to give us enough time to locate her, to leave us clues that might lead us to him? Maybe he’s not holding her, but she’s staying willingly, knowing that if she lets go of him, he’ll disappear into nothing once more. If he vanishes again, we’ll never be able to find him and bring him to justice. Maybe she feels sympathy for him? Maybe she hopes she can help him.”

Blake exclaimed excitedly, and sprang up from her seat, carrying one of the files before her over to the board. 

“Why didn’t we see this before?” she said, pointing to the pictures of the crime scenes. 

“See what?” Hotch asked. 

Blake pulled out one of Dr. Reid’s pages of notes on the case. Hotch recognized the hand-written numbers in the corner, the highlighted words on the Xeroxed page. He remembered those notes blowing all around their upstairs bathroom. After they had gotten Goody inside once and for all that night, Aaron had gathered up the pages, and then joined Reid in the bathtub. Hotch had been sitting behind Reid, with his legs on either side around Spencer’s thin form, washing Reid’s back, kissing his shoulders and his neck. He pictured the familiar pale skin with freckles and moles, running his rough hands over tight muscles. Aaron had kissed each and every inch with great tenderness. 

Aaron and Spencer had climbed out of the tub and made love on the bathroom floor, being as quiet as possible in case Jack might wake up, knowing at any second that Goody might push the door open on them again. The tile had been rough, and the small rug had left scratches on his knees. All Aaron could think about was the feeling of Reid’s nose buried against his neck, how they had moved together slowly, skin on skin, how Spencer had panted his name and clutched at his back and shoulders, how wonderful it felt to be buried so deep inside Spencer’s body. He recalled the blissful smile on Reid's face afterwards, how his wild hair had been splayed out over the tiles. 

Aaron’s chest ached. He felt dizzy with pain and longing. He pushed away the sweet but painful memory, gritting his teeth and squaring his jaw. Blake tacked the page up next to Davies’s picture, and Aaron jolted at the intensity of that stab, feeling raw and vulnerable again. 

“She is the Mother-Abbess to his Vasile. Whether he knows it or not, that’s why our unsub didn’t kill Davies,” Blake lit up brightly. “It’s not a sexual attraction at all. It must be intellectual, but perhaps it’s also a spiritual attraction. Is Davies religious?” 

“Not especially,” Penelope commented. “She does wear a cross that her grandmother gave her. They were very close. Petru said she never takes the cross off.” 

“So Davies steps out of the shower, wearing nothing but her grandmother’s cross. Anonymous Source is there to confront her and kill her, but he sees the cross. He’s convinced it’s a sign that she is protected, and he must not harm her,” Rossi speculated. 

“We need to contact the authorities everywhere along the coast, everywhere that this guy has been sending messages from, and wherever Dr. Ramirez sent messages to,” Hotch said. 

“Why?” Schultz asked. 

“He didn’t jump right into this. He must have had previous brushes with the law, either in civilian life or in military life,” Aaron decided. 

“We don’t have any proof he’s military. He could be a survivalist, one of those home-grown terrorists with a militia background. A survivalist or a white supremacist,” Fletcher said. 

“I’m going to go with actual military,” Morgan disagreed. “I think he was military, but not willingly. He was in the military, but what he was asked to do conflicted with the strong beliefs that he holds.”

“Dr. Reid speculated that these books excerpts have to do primarily with guilt and atonement,” Blake said. “I definitely agree with his assessment. Our unsub is overwhelmed with guilt about what he’s done, what he’s been compelled to do.” 

“All right,” Schultz questioned. “So where does that leads us?” 

“We need to find out what is he guilt of, and why feels he needs atonement,” Hotch said. 

“How are we supposed to find his criminal record if we don’t have a name?” Schultz growled in frustration. “We don’t even have a face. We have a vague description.”

“We could start with military conscientious objectors?” JJ suggested. Schultz nodded to that suggestion. 

“Agent Hotchner, your team should take the military angle. Mine will take the civilian angle,” Schultz decided. 

“Agreed,” Hotch nodded.


	15. Neighborhood Watch

15 - Neighborhood Watch (Nov 25 – 3 p.m.)

 

Hotch and Jack returned home mid-afternoon. Ensign James met them at the door with a gentle smile on his face and the mail in one hand. The discussions with the military and civilian authorities in Florida and South Carolina and North Carolina had not yielded any useful leads, and Hotch’s ass was dragging tonight. 

Coming home had meant facing the terror of what had happened there, something Hotch had not had the stomach for yet. But he had not found what he expected to find. The middle of the driveway should have been a blackened pit, but it was freshly-paved and spotless. The fence had been replaced and repainted. One of the myrtle trees was entirely gone. It had been devastated by the explosion, and its remains had been taken away. In its place were fresh squares of sod. The second tree looked so forlorn, leaning towards the spot where the two trees had once almost touched across the walkway. The front porch had been cleaned and repainted, the windows had been cleaned, and the front door had been replaced. Hotch suspected General Scott and his team had been involved. 

“I took an alternate route to beat the traffic,” Ensign James said as he motioned with one thumb over a shoulder. “The house is clear. You’ve got a message on the machine.” 

Hotch went to the small desk and tapped the message machine, hanging up his coat in the closet as Ensign James spun Jack around and whipped his jacket off of him. 

“ ‘Mr. Hotchner? This is Wes from East Coast Renovations? Could you give me a call? They delivered the new fridge already, and we aren’t quite ready to drop it into place. We need to know what you want us to do with it in the meantime. Thanks’.”

Hotch hunted around his pockets for his cell phone, but he wasn’t three numbers into dialing for Wes the contractor when there was a knock at the front door. He could see white-blonde, close-cropped hair in the small window in the door. Arthur tugged Jack gently up the stairs, and pulled his gun from his holster. Hotch pulled his gun as well, keeping it in his left hand as he opened the door. 

The smell of apple pie took him quite by surprise. He put away his gun as demurely as possible. 

“Hi,” the woman standing there murmured. She stared sheepishly at Aaron’s gun and back up again at his face. 

“Ma’am?” Hotch rumbled, staring at the huge pie that she was holding. 

“Gertrude Gale. My friends call me Gert.”

Aaron was fighting with the realization that she looked a lot like his own mother Allison, and he was shuddering with nervousness. 

“I’m your neighbor from across the street,” she explained. 

Now that Hotch got a good look at her, he decided that she must be telling the truth. He had only seen parts of her before, whatever was in the window frame at one time. He could not stop staring at her though. 

“I wanted to bring you this, and tell you how sorry I am about your…. your brother?” she ventured. 

“My partner,” Hotch corrected politely. 

“Ah. I had wondered. You do seem awfully affectionate for brothers." She gave a faint smile, and Hotch immediately made a mental note that he should watch the watcher more often, to make sure she wasn't at her windows the next time he planted a kiss on Reid while they were carrying in the groceries or saying goodbye on the front porch. 

"Partner," Hotch repeated softly. 

"How is he?” Mrs. Gale asked. 

“Better,” Hotch whispered. 

“How’s your boy?” she asked. 

“He’s better too,” Hotch answered. 

“DAD!” Jack shouted. Hotch flinched. A black form shot between Mrs. Gale’s ankles and in through the open door. Goody went streaking upstairs and into the master bedroom. 

“I’m sorry,” Aaron murmured. 

“It’s okay. Your cat, he’s been wandering the neighborhood for a couple days now. Those kids who were here earlier fixing up your house, they tried everything to lure him inside, bless their hearts. They followed him around with kitty treats and mouse toys for an hour, but he wasn’t having any part of their nonsense. I found him camping out near my back stoop, under the holly. I’ve been leaving tuna out for him. Hope you don’t mind,” she smiled. 

“Thank you so much for taking care of him. With everything else that was going on, I must confess, I totally forgot about him,” Hotch said, blushing, feeling miserable. Reid was going to be pissed at him for that too, he decided. 

“Not at all. Here,” she said, giving Hotch the pie. 

“Thank you, ma’am. Would you like to come in for a cup of coffee or tea?”

“No, thank you, dear. I have a four o’clock AA meeting. I saw the car, and I wanted to pop over for a moment to tell you how sorry I am.” 

“Thanks.” 

“If I hadn’t been running late that morning, I might have gotten a better look at him.”

“At whom?” Hotch asked. 

“I got a glimpse of the driver of the SUV which left right after the explosion. It was only a small glimpse.”

“You saw his face?” Hotch almost dropped the pie, he was so surprised. 

“A lot of cars come and go around your house, Mr. Hotchner. I understand that it’s not something I should notice, but I do. Being part of the neighborhood association, and the neighborhood watch. Ever since the break-in, ever since what happened with Carl, I have kept an eye out on everything around here.”

“You had a recent break-in?” Hotch worried. 

“No,” she answered. “Not recent. This was long before you moved in. My husband Carl was killed by an intruder.”

“I’m sorry. How long ago?”

“Eight years. I miss him so much,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I miss him every day, and I guess I always will. He’s the one, you know, the one who used to watch over the neighborhood. He was the one to notice what cars came and went, who was here but didn’t belong. He called in tips all the time to the police. I’ve always suspected that’s what got him killed, that it wasn’t a random break-in. But that’s water under the bridge, as they say. The police detectives gave up on his case a long time ago. When I saw the man that morning, though, I wondered at first if he was one of yours, if he belonged, because he looked like them.”

“How do you mean?” Hotch asked.

“Military build. They can dress in civilian clothes, but it’s the bearing. I spent forty-five years of married life in the company of military men and women, Mr. Hotchner. I can pick them out pretty easily, like that boy behind you.”

Ensign James looked vaguely embarrassed as Hotch smiled over one shoulder at him, then back at Mrs. Gale. 

“When I found out about all the people who got hurt, and that agent who is missing, I had a gut feeling that the guy I saw that morning was responsible,” she said. 

“Could you describe the man to a sketch artist?” Hotch asked, wanting to tell her that she should have come forward much sooner, but not wanting to alienate her. Considering the fact she believed her husband was killed for watching the neighbors and cooperating with the police, it wasn’t a surprise that she was tentative about helping out. 

“Yul Brynner,” she said, nodding firmly. 

“What?” Hotch squinted. 

“He looked like Yul Brynner with hair. Sharp nose, dark brows, big mouth. Almond-shaped eyes with pale white skin. Yul Brynner with a military build. I really must be going, Mr. Hotchner, but enjoy the pie.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“You’re welcome,” Gert replied as she turned away and stepped down the porch. She glanced back at him with sad eyes. “I hope your partner is out of the hospital soon.”

“Me too,” Hotch whispered. He closed the door and turned around. Jack and Arthur were both looking hungrily at the pie. 

“Who is Yul Brynner?” Ensign James wondered. 

“An actor. He’s a bit before your time. I need to call my team,” Hotch replied, handing them the pie. The scent of cinnamon and cloves followed them through the house.


	16. Damned Good Pie

16 - Damned Good Pie (Nov 25 – 6 p.m.)

 

“It’s good pie,” Rossi said, pushing another forkful in his mouth. Hotch slurped at his coffee and smiled at Dave. This was the most cheerful Hotch had looked in days. 

“Damn good pie,” Morgan murmured. His face was completely blissful as he took another bite, at least until Garcia gouged him in the side. “But not as good as your apple pie, Baby Girl,” Derek added wisely. Penelope gouged at Morgan again but he dodged sideways. Garcia picked up the piece of paper on the table between herself and Hotch. 

“So we’re putting out a description, and this is our guy? I don’t know how to tell you this, Bossman, but Mr. Brynner has been dead for years.” 

“A man fitting this description was driving the SUV that morning,” Hotch said, taking the picture he had printed out and staring hard at it. “Minus the Egyptian head-dress, naturally,” he added. 

“I’ll feed the specifics through my systems, and see if anyone pops up,” Garcia relented. “Dr. Blake wanted me to let you know that she ran out of westerns, so she is reading a different book with Reid this evening.” 

“What’s she reading to him?” Hotch asked. 

“Les Liaisons Dangereuses?” Garcia ventured. Hotch’s eyes narrowed in annoyance. 

“If you are all going to insist on reading to Spencer, I will leave some of his favorite books on the table there,” Aaron murmured. Morgan slid an envelope at Hotch.

“These are the call logs and discs from Henderson,” Derek said, watching how Hotch hastily picked up the envelope and peered inside. “What do you hope to find that he didn’t already find?” 

“I don’t expect to find anything more than Henderson found. But I wanted to run an eye over it, that’s all.”

“What are you looking for?” 

“Nothing,” Hotch said. 

“You want some help? Maybe I could…”

“No. Schultz wanted you to go to the forensics lab with Thomas. I’ll take the tapes,” Hotch said firmly. What he most wanted was to hear Spencer’s voice, and that was not something he was willing to share with anyone. Maybe Morgan figured that out, because he avoided Hotch’s eyes as firmly as Hotch was avoiding Morgan’s eyes. 

The land-line phone rang from the small desk near the front door. Hotch reached into his pocket for his cell phone, stopped, and put the cell on the table with a small smile. He got out of his chair and walked in search of the ringing phone. 

"Maybe it’s JJ,” Penelope whispered. Morgan frowned. 

“She didn’t answer before when I called. It went directly to voice mail.”

“What’s the matter with her? Where is she? And for that matter, where’s Torg?” Rossi asked.

“Torg is following a hunch, he said, when I talked to him,” Garcia snorted. “A hunch on what, he didn’t say. I told him he should bring his hunch to the whole team, but he said he didn’t want to look like an ass.”

“At which point you told him, too late?” Rossi wondered. Penelope smiled sideways. 

“Maybe JJ is following a hunch too,” Morgan offered. 

“Maybe they’re following the same hunch, and they’re having a race to see who gets there first,” Rossi laughed. 

“Wish those two would stop their pissing contest,” Garcia declared unhappily. 

“No, you don’t,” Rossi shook his head. 

“Why don’t I?’ Garcia asked. 

“Because if JJ and Torg stop butting heads, they’re going to start sucking face,” Rossi predicted. 

“WHAT?!” Morgan shouted. 

“JJ would never cheat on Will,” Garcia defended. 

“Loving Will does not preclude being attracted to other men,” Rossi whispered, motioning for them to keep their voices down. “I’ve been married how many times? That’s what’s going on between those two – the private lunches, the shouting matches, the one-ups. It’s unresolved sexual tension. You can’t be blind to that. Come on. How many years did we watch Reid and Hotch circle around each other, fighting their feelings?” 

“But they didn’t have shouting matches,” Morgan pointed out.

“Well, one or two,” Garcia corrected.

“Usually when Reid would stupidly put himself in danger,” Rossi interjected. 

“Hotch and Reid never had the one-up thing going on,” Morgan added. 

“Except those card games, and Reid would always cheat,” Penelope smiled. 

“Private lunches?” Morgan asked. Garcia nodded. 

“Let’s not forget about the whole…” Rossi started. Morgan was already nodding.

“Boy band hair remark,” Derek agreed. “Or that undercover case in…”

“Yeah,” Garcia snickered. “For the record, Reid did that skirt and corset proud.”

“Yes, he sure did,” Morgan confirmed, humming softly. 

“But it’s not the same thing with JJ and Torg. You are so full of shit,” Garcia informed Dave. 

Hotch was coming back into the kitchen, holding the phone, and frowning. It must not have been good news. He sat down at the table, looked at the three of them, and took a deep breath. 

“What is it, Bossman?” Garcia asked. 

“That was Schultz.” 

“Why didn’t he call on your cell?” Penelope wondered. 

“He got the numbers mixed up. Bill Price called. They got a package delivered to their house tonight.”

Garcia jumped up out of her seat and grabbed her purse. “Let’s go!”

“Schultz wants us to meet him at Price’s house,” Hotch said numbly. 

“What’s wrong?” Rossi worried. 

“I don’t know,” Hotch answered. “While I was talking to Schultz, I got this bad feeling. A really bad feeling. I need to call the hospital.”

* * *

“Is Reid okay?” Hotch asked. Everyone else in the car was looking out a window or out the windshield, pretending they weren’t listening. Dr. Blake’s voice was audible from the cell phone.

“There has been no change, Agent Hotchner,” she reported. “Spencer is sleeping, or at least so it seems. We are at a crucial point in our story here. Merteuil and Valmont are beginning to quarrel. War has officially been declared. It’s quite delicious.” 

“Call me if there is any change in Reid’s condition,” Hotch ordered nervously. 

“My dear sir, I will contact you at once,” Blake responded, and then hung up. Hotch put away his cell phone and frowned into the distance. 

“She’s going to turn his brain to jelly, reading him books like that,” Aaron grumbled. 

“Reid likes all kinds of books. He eats them like popcorn. I don’t see the harm,” Morgan shrugged from the driver’s seat. 

“Dr. Blake must have a pretty good idea what kind of books Reid would like. They’ve been friends for years and years,” Rossi interjected carefully, judging Hotch’s dark mood from across the back seat. “She’s known him longer than any of us have, since he took her summer undergraduate linguistics course at Georgetown. He was fifteen when they first met.”

Hotch quietly gave Rossi a hairy eyeball stare. 

“We were talking about when we each first met Reid. JJ mistook him for a Xerox technician, because he was in the middle of the copy room with the machine in pieces around him, trying to find the loose screw that was making the noise, also something about slowing down the internal mechanisms and causing the paper jams. Is it true you two convinced Reid to copy his backside on the machine to make sure it was fixed, and then you taped pictures of his butt all over JJ's office?"

Morgan laughed out, and Hotch grinned faintly at the memory. "Not a word of truth to it," Aaron lied, going grim again. 

"Sure there isn't. Anyhow, I told Dr. Blake how Reid fan-boyed all over me on the plane ride to the crime scene in Texas,” Rossi went on. “Blake said that on the first day of her course, Reid came to her office, asking how he could earn extra credit in her class. She recommended other books that he could read.”

“So?” Hotch frowned. 

“So she’s known him a very long time,” Rossi repeated. 

“That doesn’t mean she knows him better than we do,” Aaron frowned harder. 

“Maybe Reid has never talked to you about his more unconventional reading habits because he’s worried you won’t approve,” Dave offered. 

Hotch took a deep breath to say something, but then shook his head, clearly thinking better of whatever it was on the tip of his tongue. 

“What?” Rossi asked. “You think because you’re sleeping with the guy that you know every last one of his dirty secret pleasures? Guess again,” Dave grinned at Aaron. “I bet he's got kinks you haven't even dreamed about. Sleeping with someone doesn't mean you know all there is to know about them. If that were true, I would have known when Amelia was stepping out with her boss, wouldn’t I? Long before I came home and found them in bed together.”

“I know enough about Reid to know he would find Dangerous Liaisons both tedious and mind-numbing,” Hotch shot back. "He likes adventure novels. That bore-fest is probably the last book on Earth you should be reading to a man in a coma.” 

“Is that all that’s bothering you?” Dave asked. 

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Aaron snapped. 

“Sure you don’t,” Dave snickered. 

“We’re here,” Morgan announced perhaps a bit too loudly. 

“Thank goodness,” Garcia whispered. Derek shot her a wicked smile.


	17. The Package

17 - The Package (Nov 25 – 10 p.m.)

 

“I saw it on the porch when I came home, and I left it right there. I mean, this guy blew up three cars, killed two people, injured how many others? I wasn’t going to touch the thing,” Bill Price explained, pointing at the box on his stoop. Looking at Mr. Price gave Hotch an eerie feeling. It was like seeing himself ten years ago. Dark hair, dark eyes, tall and brooding. Bill Price must have realized the resemblance too. He kept looking at Hotch with curious eyes. 

“You were right to call us,” SSA Schultz agreed. “Look at the postmark,” he pointed again. 

Hotch leaned down, using the narrow beam of his flashlight to run over the top of the ominous brown-paper box. The postage tag had been stuck to the box at an odd angle, as if tacked there in a hurry. 

“Union Station,” he declared. “Odd that someone would deliver a package on Sunday, isn’t it?”

"Probably one of the neighbors accepted it for them yesterday but didn't put it on their porch until today," Morgan surmised. 

Price threw out a sharp bark of a laugh. “I stared down enough IED’s in the army to know this is not a box of chocolates. Jimmy was sniffing and smelling at it before I pulled him back.” 

“Who’s Jimmy?” Schultz asked. Price hooked a thumb towards the excited brown, white, and black beagle who was restrained at the lamp post at the end of the flower bed that bordered the driveway. 

“Jimmy has been with me for ages. He was trained as a bomb-sniffer.”

“You did the right thing, calling us,” Schultz repeated. Price did not look any happier. 

“I want you to catch this guy. That son of a bitch was in my driveway when he stole our car. He picked up my daughter. He could have hurt Olive,” Price shuddered. “Do you know how long it took for us to have Olive in the first place? The years of trying? She means everything to us.” 

“You might consider taking….” 

“A few days’ vacation in a scenic and distant location? You bet your ass,” Price replied to Schultz’s suggestion. “We’re going to Lizzie’s parents in Tennessee. Tonight.” 

“If you could step inside with me, we need to go over a few details,” Schultz said, opening the front door and beckoning for Mr. Price to follow him. 

Hotch got a glimpse of a blonde woman inside the foyer, holding a small child against her side. Mrs. Price was pale and frightened. The little girl met Hotch’s eyes, and her face lit up brightly. She waved at him. Aaron tentatively waved back. Schultz closed the screen door, then the front portal. 

“Torg is bringing over a portable x-ray,” Morgan reported, closing his cell phone and putting it away. “I can save you the trouble. I know what’s in the box,” Derek added. 

“We’re all ears,” Hotch waited. Rossi, Hotch, and Garcia stood staring at the box, as Morgan went and unhooked Jimmy from the lamp post. He brought the beagle over, and the closer they got to the box, the more excited Jimmy got. He was jumping up and down, wagging his tail, yipping and barking. 

“Did you know that beagles have one of the best senses of smell in the dog world?” Morgan asked. 

“So what’s in the box?” Hotch asked. 

“Dog toys,” Morgan predicted. 

“Dog toys?!” Rossi laughed. 

“Jimmy’s own dog toys,” Morgan said. 

“Ones that were in the Prices’ SUV?” Hotch asked. 

“You’re saying our unsub sent back the dog toys that were in the SUV before he cleaned and dumped the vehicle?” Garcia asked. 

“Care to lay money on that?” Rossi sugared Morgan up with a wink and a head tilt. 

“I’m so sure, I’ll go double on that,” Morgan replied. He knocked on the front door and held out Jimmy’s leash for Mr. Price. Bill scooped the beagle up and drew him safely inside. 

“What kind of lunatic are we dealing with?” Garcia asked. Hotch raised a brow and shook his head.

* * *

“Why do I have to wear the blast suit?” Torg whined.

“Come on, rookie. You know how this works,” Morgan replied, shoving the white-paneled outfit back into Karl’s grip. “You were late to the crime scene, so you get the hard job.”

“You said it’s dog toys,” Torg pouted. “You laid down a hundred bucks to Rossi on the certainty that there’s dog toys in here.” 

“So if I’m right, I’ll buy you a bottle of your favorite wine. But if I’m not right, you won’t be picking up your skull across the street. Deal?” Morgan asked, plunking a heavy helmet down on Torg’s head and spreading the wings out over his shoulders. 

“There’s no way he sent an actual bomb through the mail,” Torg scoffed.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” 

Torg and Morgan spun around to find Bill Price standing on the stoop again. 

“Agent Morgan, you are not going to let some rookie kid spread himself all over my front lawn,” Price said, scooping the helmet off Torg’s head. He slid into the blast suit in less than a minute, putting up both hands and waiting for Morgan and Torg to fit him with the heavy gloves. 

“You seem to have had some experience with this sorta thing,” Torg said loudly, in spite of the late hour. No matter. There wasn’t a porch light in the neighborhood that wasn’t on, and not a porch without a pair of eyes or three or four hanging on their every move. Except of course the Prices’ front door, which was shielded by a heavy draping of blast-proof material. 

“Ten years, three tours. I never thought I’d be doing this again, least of all on my own front step,” Price muttered, carrying the portable x-ray gently and carefully towards the brown-wrapped box. “Light it up,” he called out, leveling the tablet-like device over the top. Torg sat down on the steps and flipped open the laptop he was holding. The tablet Price was holding came to life, gray on white images filling the screen. 

“How’s it look?” Morgan called back. 

Price moved the tablet around and over the box, getting closer and closer, almost touching the surface. He drew up himself up tall, turned and chucked the tablet to Morgan. Then he pulled the helmet gear and shoulder wings. 

“Have a look for yourself. I don’t believe this guy.” Price was muttering choice blue words to himself as he tossed the helmet aside and ran both hands through his hair. Morgan hurried over, and so did Torg. Morgan held the tablet over the box. Torg held the laptop on one arm and tabbed keys. The tablet display lit up once more. 

“What is all that?” Morgan asked Price. 

“The contents of my glove box – title and registration, maps. Our GPS,” Price replied. “Jimmy’s toys from the rear floorboard. Olive’s juice cup. Lizzie’s four-leaf clover charm from above the mirror.”

“Who do the earrings belong to?” Torg asked. 

“A Christmas present for Lizzie. I hid them in the car so she wouldn’t find them in the house,” Price whispered. 

“What about the money?” Torg asked, head poking towards the tablet Morgan was holding. 

“What money?” Price wondered, coming back over. 

“Looks like there is money stacked in the bottom of the box,” Torg replied. “You can see the metallic strips in the individual bills.” 

Morgan was waving the all-clear signal to everyone inside the house. The garage door slid up. Hotch, Schultz, Rossi, and Garcia appeared. So did Jimmy. He came bouncing over, leapt up the steps, and bowled the box into the grass. It took Morgan and Price both to pull the beagle off the package. 

“We’ll have to examine the contents for fiber and DNA evidence before we can return it to you,” Hotch explained as Morgan carried the box over to the FBI’s SUV in the far end of the driveway. 

“Understood,” Price nodded.


	18. Preliminary Analysis

18 - Preliminary Analysis (Nov 26 – 10:00 a.m.) 

 

Hotch held Fletcher's report in his grip and focused on the words, hoping they would sink into his brain and make sense to him. It was ten a.m., and he was fading fast. He had been too wired to sleep last night, then too tired to get up this morning. Aaron had listened to the taped phone calls from Cryptology, lingering over every recorded word Reid had spoken, until he had finally cried himself. Once he dragged himself out of bed, he had had too much coffee. Worse, the caffeine wasn’t helping. He was crashing, and he knew it. His eyes were seeing the words, but his brain was not processing them. 

Preliminary Hair and fiber analysis of box mailed to William and Elizabeth Price:

Box is 12 inches by 8 inches by 10 inches. It was purchased at a United States Post Office, as indicated by the logos and SKU bars. It was wrapped in ULINE packaging paper, standard brown. The box was sealed with Scotch mailing tape, clear. The wrapping paper was sealed with same Scotch mailing tape, clear. 

Prints lifted from the box: full palm and fingertips, left, full palm and fingertips, right. Prints lifted from packaging paper: full palm and fingertips, left and right. Prints lifted from the sealing tape: partial fingertips, left and right. Prints are being run through all known federal, state, and local databases at time of preliminary report. Nail polish chips were found on the sealing tape. Fragments are being compared to control samples from Agent April Davies’ apartment. 

Outside and inside surface of the packaging paper both contain trace evidence of gunpowder. There were two metal shavings in the right bottom corner of the box. Both samples are being tested against materials recovered from the bomb sites. 

Other contents of box are as follows: 

title and registration of vehicle belonging to William and Elizabeth Price

state maps from the Price vehicle

Prints lifted from paper materials: full fingertips left, full fingertips right, three different individuals. Full palm left and right from one individual. Prints are being run through all known federal, state, and local databases at time of preliminary report

Analysis of hairs folded inside map of Virginia: brown, white, and black coat hairs belonging to canine matching the Price family beagle; human hair, brown, six inches in length. Preliminary exam indicates this hair does not belong to either Elizabeth Price or Olive Price. 

GPS device, wiped clean of all prints and fibers

Doughnut sprinkles and frosting remnants. Dunkin Doughnuts, strawberry-flavored pink glaze frosting and multi-colored ornamental sugar bits. (IDEK – maybe he was eating doughnuts while wrapping the box?)

Dog toys: one well-chewed tennis ball; one mangled hedgehog; one rawhide chew with bite markings which match the Price family beagle. Hair and fiber analysis on-going. DNA sample analysis on-going. 

Child’s cup with non-spill lid, washed in water and Palmolive dish soap, hand-dried with Bounty paper towel. Cup was wiped clean of all prints and fibers, but partial paper towel left inside cup absorbed water sample and a fragment of nail polish. Polish chip is being compared to control samples Agent April Davies’ apartment. 

Plastic charm containing a four-leaf clover, washed in water and Palmolive dish soap, hand-dried with Bounty paper towel. Plastic charm was wiped clean of all prints. 

Pair of pearl and gold earrings, new, in box. Box contains one human hair, black, straight, six inches. Hair does not belong to Elizabeth or Olive Price. (cashier at jewelry store?) 

Currency included in the box is as follows: $20,000 in US currency, crisp uncirculated $100 bills. All bills are from the Philadelphia U.S. Mint, 2011. Actual currency. Not counterfeit. 

A hand on Hotch’s shoulder made him leap in surprise. Morgan sat down at the conference room table where Hotch had his notes spread out. Derek leaned down and looked Aaron straight in the eyes. 

“You need sleep, Hotch. I’m taking you home.”

Hotch shook his head and handed Morgan the preliminary report. 

“Too much to do,” Aaron protested. “I’ll head back to my office, to the couch. Catch an hour there. I’ll feel better then.” 

“The initial report from the box?” Morgan asked. 

Hotch nodded. 

“Do we have a hair sample from Agent Davies to compare with the evidence?” Morgan added. 

Hotch nodded again. 

“Doughnut sprinkles?” Morgan landed on the phrase. Hotch shrugged and shook his head. 

A knock on the conference room door made them both look up. Schultz was dragging himself over. He was in about the same shape that Hotch was in. He eyed Aaron sympathetically. 

“The hospital called,” Schultz began. Hotch sat up straight. Fear gleamed in his red eyes. “John Rockford succumbed to his injuries. He passed away a few minutes ago. He took a turn for the worst last night, and there was nothing the doctors could do.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Hotch breathed, his shoulders relaxing. He wasn’t happy, but he was relieved. Was that a terrible thing to feel? Morgan and Hotch exchanged a serious look – they were both having the same horrid feelings of relief and guilt. 

“Why don’t I drive us over to the hospital? We can talk with Rockford’s doctors and check in on Reid?” Morgan suggested.

“Hotch, I didn’t want to ask this before, but…” 

“Go ahead,” Aaron said to Schultz. 

“It’s been five days. Do you believe there’s a chance in a million that Agent Davies is alive?”

“There is always hope, yes,” Hotch replied, feeling afterwards that he should have put more feeling behind the words. Schultz’s face betrayed his own doubts. 

“She’s a kid, Hotch. She’s never had an hour’s worth of field duty. Never had any confrontations with criminal suspects. I mean, I want to find her alive as much as anyone else does, but the longer she is gone, the worse this looks.”

“A very wise man once told us you should never underestimate little girls, because they are made of very strong stuff,” Morgan said. Hotch recalled the origin of that quote, and gave Derek a tearful sideways smile. 

“I was up half the night on the phone with Davies’ mother. She was crying her eyes out, wanting to know what I’m doing to find her daughter alive. What am I supposed to tell her? How am I supposed to handle this? I’m looking for Davies, but I can’t stop thinking about my Madison, how I would feel if someone had kidnapped my daughter. I would hunt that bastard to the ends of the Earth until I got her back, dead or alive, and that’s what’s keeping me going, but….” 

“Agent Davies is smart, Schultz. Even though she lacks practical field experience, she knows how to gain the trust and confidence of her captor, how to use the knowledge she gains to prevent harm to herself and others. The best piece of advice I can give you is to have faith in your fellow agents, even when they’re not from your own unit,” Hotch replied. 

“Yes, sir. Thanks. Head over to the hospital. We’ll continue going over evidence here. Hey, and that kid of yours, Torg? Great idea.”

“What idea?” Hotch asked. 

“He was up all night too, following a hunch,” Morgan explained. 

“What kind of hunch?”

“He decided that this guy, no matter how anonymous he’s hoping to be, unless he’s a vampire, he’s been caught on video camera somewhere along the line. With so many security cameras at post office facilities that he’s been in, that somehow, somewhere, this guy has been caught on tape. If not at the post offices, then at the businesses near to, next to, across the street. Someone has seen this guy somewhere. Since we now have a physical description, Torg suggested doing on-site interviews with the post offices and business along his travel route,” Morgan revealed. 

“Sound thinking,” Hotch agreed. 

“Yeah,” Schultz nodded. “It’s so low tech, it might actually work.”

“So Rossi and Torg headed to the post office in Key West. Jareau and Dr. Blake started from this end, at Union Station. They’re going to canvass post offices all around the region. They plan to meet somewhere in the middle, in the Carolinas, and fly back to DC late tomorrow. I made them promise to call if they found anything useful,” Morgan said. 

“In the meantime, my team is going to continue analyzing the contents of the box, and continue to question the people in the Davies’ apartment building to see if someone saw or heard anything the morning that she vanished,” Schultz said. “Go check on Dr. Reid. Then get some rest,” he advised.

* * *

“There are so many holes in this theory,” Aaron moaned, “not the least of which is actual motive. Why did our unsub do these things, Morgan?”

They were in the hospital elevator, heading up to the ICU floor. Aaron’s head was hanging low. He had dozed in the car on the drive over, and yet the moment the vehicle stopped, he was awake again. While he had been almost alert for a minute or two, he was sinking back into zombie mode. 

Hotch and Morgan had spoken with John Rockford’s doctors downstairs, but the discussion had not yielded any further useful information. It was a simple as Schultz had said before – Rockford had succumbed to the burns he incurred while pulling his dead son from their burning vehicle. In the end, all Hotch and Morgan had been able to do was offer their condolences to Mrs. Rockford and her other son, and solemnly promise to find a speedy resolution to this case. 

“I wish we understood his motives better,” Morgan lamented. 

“He kills Pam Larsson without a quibble. He kills John Rockford’s son, and now he’s responsible for John’s death too. He was sitting there watching when he pressed the buttons. He was fucking watching Reid pull Magnusson from Bessie when he sent the command to detonate that explosive device. He knew that one or both of them could have been killed, and it was nothing to him. I mean, how is this guy capable of blowing up one person, but he also takes the time to safeguard a child, put her out of danger? He sends the family their personal belongings and a stack of money. Then he cleans their vehicle and dumps it in Fairfax? Why?” Hotch rambled sleepily. 

“Let's not think about what we don't have, or what we don't know. Okay? Let's look at what we do have. He did not drive two vehicles to the scene where he dumped the Prices’ vehicle, so he lives within walking distance of the grocery store where it was found. He's got a strong moral conviction about not hurting innocent children. There seems to me to be this weird split between right and wrong, how much he wants to avenge his friend’s perceived wrongs, but how he stops when it would mean doing something he can’t abide by morally,” Morgan replied. “If he’s so upset about what he’s been asked to do, then why does he keep doing what he’s doing?”

“Maybe the military service isn’t the problem. At least not the start of the problem,” Hotch speculated. 

“So what is the problem?” Morgan wondered. 

“He’s defending Ramirez’s honor, yes, but what bothers me is, how did our unsub know that Ramirez is dead before we even did?” Hotch asked. 

“Maybe this all began as revenge for the insults his friend had suffered. Once Anonymous Source found out Dr. Ramirez had killed himself, that made him really and truly angry,” Morgan suggested. 

“It doesn’t add up. We’re missing something crucial here. We’re missing something so crucial, and I can’t for the life of me figure out what,” Hotch groaned. 

“It doesn’t have to make sense to us. It only has to make sense to him,” Morgan reminded Hotch quietly. “When all these murders do start to make perfect sense to us, we’ll know we’ve been doing this job way too long.” 

“I hear you,” Hotch yawned. 

The elevator doors opened. Hotch and Morgan stepped out. They proceeded along the hallway, being as quiet and unobtrusive as possible. The nurses at the station nodded to them wordlessly. The team had been here so often that every shift of nurses could recognize them on sight. Morgan paused for a second to admire the beautiful vase with white lilies and pale pink roses which dominated the countertop.

Hotch froze dead in his tracks. His eyes went wide as he gazed into Reid’s hospital room. He reached for his gun. Morgan looked up, eyes darting around in a panic. What was wrong?

There was a strange man in Reid’s hospital room, sitting by his bed, holding his hand. He was a thin man with a wiry frame, dark brown hair, and a close-trimmed beard. His shoulders were shaking as he sobbed. 

Morgan put a hand on Hotch’s arm, lowering his gun. 

“What’s the matter with you?” Derek whispered. 

“Mr. Hotchner, we’re going to have to ask you to put your gun away,” the head nurse said as she stepped out from behind the station and crossed into his line of sight. 

“Who is in there with Reid?!” Hotch exclaimed. Morgan took him by one arm. 

“Hotch, be calm.” 

Aaron pushed forward, past both Morgan and the head nurse. He gave the flabbergasted Lieutenant Miles an angry, dirty glance before pushing his way into Reid’s hospital room. 

“Who are you? What are you doing here? Let go of Spencer, right this minute!” Hotch bellowed.

The crying stranger wobbled to his feet and nearly fell over backwards in his attempt to get out of Hotch’s reach. Morgan was suddenly pulling backwards on Hotch’s shoulders. Miles hurried into the room. 

“Agent Hotchner? He’s a friend of Dr. Reid’s,” Miles promised, getting between Hotch and the stranger. “I vetted him. He checks out.” 

“Hotch, calm down,” Derek begged as the Lieutenant helped the stranger to his feet and steadied him. Aaron advanced on the man again. 

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” Aaron barked. 

“I’m Ethan, Ethan Mouton,” the man said as he nervously stumbled away from Hotch again. “Reid and I, we’re old friends. I heard about what happened, and I flew in to see him. I can’t believe he’s….he’s lying there like….this…. It doesn’t seem real.”

Ethan motioned towards Reid in the hospital bed, and crumpled down into a nearby chair, hanging his head in his hands. 

“It’s not supposed to happen like this, you know? I’m supposed to have more time. I need another chance. Oh God. I want another chance,” Ethan cried. 

Miles winced, and so did Morgan. Hotch bristled. 

“Another chance to do what?” Aaron rumbled, low and deep. 

“I always thought if I had more time, more time to make Spencer see, then he would come around to how I feel about him. But now it might be too late,” Ethan whimpered. “Oh God. It can’t be too late.”


	19. My Sweet Prints

19 - My Sweet Prints (Nov 26 – 11 a.m.)

 

“Oh my stars,” Garcia whispered. She was standing in front of the crime scene board, munching on take-out Chinese. She had missed lunch, but thankfully she had a couple minutes to pause and catch her breath now. Morgan leaned close to whisper back to her. They could hear approaching footfalls, and knew they should keep their voices down.

“So all I’m saying, Baby Girl, is on the outside chance that you and Pretty Boy are messing around behind Hotch’s back, today would not be a good day to break the news,” Morgan almost grinned. 

“His Grimness laid Ethan Mouton out flat on the floor with one punch?” 

“One punch,” Morgan nodded. 

“Is creepy jazz-musician guy pressing charges?” Garcia asked. 

“We all know Hotch is tad over-protective and territorial about Reid. Mouton had no idea that Hotch and Reid are a couple. He got seriously pissed off when he found out. It was touch and go, but I talked him out of pressing assault charges against Hotch. He was not happy though. Not happy at all,” Morgan said. 

“Hotch is stressed over this, no doubt about it. This isn’t the kind of thing he would do normally, punching a complete stranger.” 

“Watch your mouth with him,” Morgan begged. 

Hotch crept into the conference room and curled himself into the chair closest to the crime scene board, a couple feet behind where Morgan and Garcia were talking. He gave the two of them a bashful glance, so unlike himself. For a moment, it was like he was channeling Spencer Reid. It was very eerie. 

“Feeling better after your nap, sir?” Garcia asked carefully. 

“Better,” Hotch confirmed. 

“For the record, in case you're worried, none of us is having a torrid affair with your brainy honey bunny. I even checked out Dr. Blake. Asked her point blank if her and Reid had ever had any hanky-panky going on. She actually meeped at me. They’re friends, Hotch. That’s all. She’s happily married. She has kids almost as old as Reid, for goodness sake,” Penelope purred, patting Hotch’s shoulder. Morgan glared at her, and closed one eye, waiting for Hotch to explode. Instead, Aaron gave self-deprecating wince and cradled his head in his hands. 

“I can’t believe I hit Reid’s friend,” Hotch cringed, rubbing the back of his neck and straightening up. 

“You broke his nose,” Morgan reminded Hotch quietly. 

“At least you didn’t break his hands,” Garcia chortled. 

“I made such an ass of myself,” Hotch groaned. 

“It’ll be all right,” Garcia promised. 

“No, it’s not. Reid is going to hit the roof when he finds out about this,” Aaron worried. 

“Hotch, you have to promise you aren’t going to round-house punch every person who visits Reid, and wants to sit by his bed and hold his hand. Believe it or not, there are other people in the world who love him almost as much as you do,” Morgan scolded gently. 

“Yeah, I get it. I’ll calm down. No more dick-waving. You don’t need to keep lecturing me, Morgan. Any news from the others? Any news from Schultz and his team?” Hotch asked. 

“While you were sleeping, Schultz called from the forensics lab. The human hair in the earring box matches the sales clerk at the jewelry store where Mr. Price bought the earrings. However, the other human hairs in the box are an exact match for Agent Davies. The nail polish chips are a match to a bottle from her nightstand – OPI’s Samoan Sand.”

“That would seem to confirm that Agent Davies is indeed in the company of our unsub,” Hotch decided. 

“Oh, it gets better,” Morgan smiled. “Although we don’t have a hit yet on all the fingerprints in the box, we have been able to verify that the fingerprints on the maps and title and registration belong to the Prices, and there are also ones that Agent Davies. She must have pulled the items out of the glove box, and also packed the items into the box for shipment. She taped the box closed. However, the prints on the outside paper were not a match to her prints. While those prints are being run through other databases, the techies went over the packaging paper, to analyze the how’s and why’s and who’s of the prints that were found,” Morgan explained. 

“Go on,” Hotch nodded. Morgan motioned to the table, where he had a roll of brown mailing paper laid out, along with a box of the same approximate shape and size as their evidence. It even read ‘sample box’ on the side in Garcia’s handwriting. Morgan bumped up against the table and picked up the box. He handed it to Garcia, who whipped a piece of packaging tape off the roll and sealed the top of the box. 

“Davies washes, dries, and cleans the baby cup and the clover charm, maybe under the pretext of removing any residual trace evidence. She puts the money in the bottom of the box. She puts the maps and papers to the side. Puts in the GPS. Puts in the cup, the charm, and the earrings. Puts in the dog toys. She accidently tears off chips of her peeling nail polish while she’s sealing the box with the mailing tape,” Morgan demonstrated. Garcia gave him back the closed box. 

“Our unsub cuts the paper from the roll, and spreads it out on the same table he used when he was constructing the car bombs for the initial attacks,” Penelope explained as Morgan used a pair of scissors to slice the paper and lay out a large piece on the conference table. Derek paused where he was, pointing to his right hand with his left hand. 

“He lays the paper down, so we get a full right palm and fingertip prints,” Morgan explained. Hotch gave half a smile. 

“Why is he not wearing gloves?” Aaron asked. ‘He’s been so careful before.”

“Maybe he’s upset? Maybe he did this in a hurry? Maybe he wasn’t thinking. Maybe Davies has got him off his game?” Garcia suggested. 

“Our unsub takes the box, he places it in the middle, and he starts folding the paper around it, holding it in place with small pieces of tape which Davies is tearing off for him and handing to him, thus the sticky side of the tape has her prints and his prints both on it,” Morgan continued. “We get partial and full fingertips of both his hands on the paper, because he’s moving it around to best fit it to the box. He didn’t cut the paper straight, even more of an indication that he’s upset.”

Morgan finished wrapping the sample box and picked up the black sharpie pen which lay to the side. 

“There’s no return address,” Morgan said, leaving the upper left corner blank. “But the Prices’ mailing information? Agent Davies wrote that, neatly, calmly, no shaking hand.”

“Show him the best part,” Garcia urged, handing Morgan a piece of paper from the evidence file. 

“Look how she wrote their address,” Morgan pointed, giving Hotch the paper. 

“William and Elizabeth Price, 545 Jamestown Road, Williamsburg, VA,” Hotch whispered as he read. “Block letters, first letters larger than the rest. What am I looking for?” 

“We matched the sample to the correspondence that Davies has done for Reid while she’s been in Cryptology. You know Reid prefers written material to emails. Davies block-prints all her mailing labels because her cursive hand isn’t the best,” Garcia explained. 

“What’s the big deal?” Hotch asked. 

“Man, you are tired,” Morgan said, pointing. “Davies underlined Virginia.” 

“Yeah? So?” Hotch shrugged. 

“She didn’t do that on any of the samples from Cryptology. She used the same block letters, but she didn’t underline the states’ names. She did underline them on this box, I’m thinking to draw attention to the location. She’s telling us they haven’t left the area,” Morgan smiled. 

“We already know that. The box was mailed from Union Station,” Hotch replied somewhat moodily. 

“What Davies is telling us is that she and Anonymous Source, they didn’t hop a train out of Union Station once the box was mailed. They’re right here in Virginia. We’ve got a chance of finding them before it’s too late,” Morgan huffed. 

“Right, right, you’re looking on the bright side,” Hotch agreed. “Have we heard anything from Torg and Rossi, or JJ and Blake?” he asked. 

“No news yet, but they should be checking in any time now,” Garcia replied, tapping her watch on her wrist. “What is it?” Penelope asked, noting the expression on Hotch’s face. His brow furrowed as he stared at the sample box on the table. 

“Why the Prices?” Hotch said. 

“What?” Garcia puzzled. 

“Why the Prices?” he repeated. “Of all the people in the area, or all the cars this unsub could have stolen?” 

“I see where you’re headed,” Morgan whispered. “Were the Prices a random choice, or does our unsub have a connection to Bill or Elizabeth?”

“Or to Olive,” Garcia interjected. “Remember, he took the time to take her out of the vehicle, zip up her coat, put on her hat. He likes kids. He's protective of them.”

“I wonder if Dr. Sharp could talk to Olive Price. Jack’s therapist, Dr. Sharp. He specializes with young children who have experienced traumatic or violent situations– crimes against persons, crimes against property, arson, abuse, neglect,” Aaron said.

“It couldn’t hurt to ask him to talk to her. We’ve got nothing else to go on until the others call back or the IAFIS database search yields a hit on our unsub’s prints,” Morgan concurred.


	20. Silly Hat

20 - Silly Hat (Nov 26 – 6 p.m.)

 

“Thanks, Dr. Sharp. Thanks for squeezing us in. Thanks for everything.” 

“How’s Jack?” 

“Better,” Hotch reported happily. “Thank you for helping him. I can’t tell you how much of a difference you’ve made in him.”

“Did Dr. Rhodes give his permission for Jack to see Dr. Reid?” 

“No. Dr. Rhodes said no. But Jack was there when I asked for permission, and he understood. Dr. Rhodes said maybe soon, but not yet.” 

“What can I do for you tonight, Mr. Hotchner?” Sharp asked. His serious and professional demeanor was such a comfort. He stood in the lobby of his office suite after hours, and watched Jack and Olive leafing through the books in the waiting room. The Prices were standing nervously to Hotch’s other side. 

“This is William and Elizabeth Price. Their daughter Olive. They are material witnesses in the case that we’re working,” Hotch explained, keeping his voice low. “Your sessions have been such a help to Jack that I hoped you might be able to talk to Olive, see if there’s anything we might be missing here,” Hotch said. 

“How are you connected to the case?” Sharp asked the Prices. 

“The man who used the car bombs on the members of the Cryptology department stole the Price’s vehicle out of his driveway the evening before the attacks. He used their vehicle in commission of the crimes, and then cleaned their vehicle and dumped it in a different city,” Hotch began. 

“But he pulled our daughter Olive out of the SUV before he stole it,” Bill interjected. Sharp’s brows rose at this comment. 

“You want her to give you a description of him?” Sharp asked. 

“We have a physical description. We’d like to know more about her impression of him,” Hotch hoped. 

“Her impression of him?” Sharp asked. “Whether he was scary or not scary? Whether he frightened her? Whether she sensed if he meant to harm her?”

“Along that lines, yes.” 

“Can we play with your dolls?” Jack asked Dr. Sharp, bouncing over and pushing himself into the middle of the adults to get their attention. Dr. Sharp looked down and smiled, nodding, motioning towards his office. 

“Of course, Jack,” he said. Jack hurried down the hallway, and Olive followed quietly behind. Mrs. Price traced in Olive’s steps, and paused before reaching the doorway of Sharp’s office. 

“We should have gone to Mama's in Tennessee like we planned,” she frowned. “I don’t like this. I don’t want Olive to have nightmares for years and years about this boogeyman that everyone wants to talk to her about. I don’t want Olive to be scarred for life over this.”

“Has she talked about him to you?” Sharp asked. Elizabeth nodded. Hotch drifted quietly into the background and did his best to hear everything and say nothing. 

“At breakfast this morning, she asked when he would bring back our car,” Mrs. Price said. 

“Did she seem scared?” 

“Not scared so much as confused,” Mrs. Price replied. 

“I was taking dishes out of the dishwasher while Lizzie cooked the eggs. Olive kept watching me. I asked her what was wrong? She wanted to know where her favorite cup was. She left it in the car. She wanted to know when the man was bringing our car back,” Bill murmured. 

All the adults were watching Jack and Olive were pulling every last flesh-toned doll out of Dr. Sharp’s toy chest. 

“Why are your dolls naked?” Elizabeth asked. Her voice rose perceptively. 

“The human body in its natural state is nothing to be ashamed of. Many of my patients have been made to feel embarrassed about their bodies, about themselves because of what they've been through. I don't want my patients to feel shame. Besides that, the dolls need to be a blank slate when the children first see them,” Sharp explained. “There should be no preconceived notions that this doll is dressed this way and therefore must be this kind of person. I let the children dress the dolls, and tell me who they are by the way they dress them. Can you tell me more about breakfast this morning?” 

“Bill was putting away the dishes, and Olive was watching, waiting for her favorite cup to come out of the machine. When it didn’t appear, she asked if the man was bringing back the car, because she was sure her cup was in the car,” Elizabeth said. “What? Why are you smiling like that?” 

“Maybe he promised her he would bring back the car? What happened the evening he took your vehicle?” Dr. Sharp asked. 

“Lizzie was exercising, and Olive wanted pizza for dinner, but she wanted my special pizza. Chicken and carrots. We needed to go to the store to get the ingredients,” Bill said. 

“What do you do for a living, Mr. Price, if you don’t mind me asking?” 

“Defense contractor,” Price said grimly, and nothing more. Sharp understood it might be a classified position. 

“Does Olive know what you do?” 

“Why do you ask?”

Sharp nodded towards the children at play. Olive had selected lots of dolls. She had dressed a dark-haired male doll in a dark business suit and dark glasses, but she had wrapped an apron around his waist as well.

“Do you do a lot of the family cooking?” Sharp asked Mr. Price.

“Yes.” 

"I clean, Bill cooks," Elizabeth explained. 

“Do you wear an apron when you cook?”

“Sometimes,” Price admitted. “Anything wrong with that?” 

“God, no!” Sharp exclaimed softly. “Everything right about that, in fact. You are giving your daughter an expanded view of the roles that modern men and women may fill. I approve whole-heartedly! Go on. Tell me about that evening.” 

“I got home before Lizzie and Olive, took Jimmy, our beagle, I took him for a walk. I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. We came back. Lizzie got home with Olive. They had been running late. She said it was traffic, but I saw her sneak packages into the house while I was on the computer. Guess we were both Christmas shopping,” Bill said, giving Elizabeth a fond smile, which she returned him. 

“Olive wanted chicken and carrot pizza for dinner. We talked about it all the way home,” Elizabeth interjected. 

“Lizzie got on the treadmill. I logged off the computer, left my wallet there on the desk in the living room. I grabbed Olive, and I took her to the car. She took her juice cup with her. I put her in the car seat, and realized I forgot my wallet. I was gone for less than two minutes. Popped into the house. Picked up my wallet from beside the computer.”

“Your back was turned to the door?” Sharp asked. 

“Yes. I picked up my wallet. Lizzie was at the end of the hall, so I gave her a kiss before I hurried out. I opened the door.”

“Now that the door was open, you could see your driveway?” Sharp breathed. 

“Yes. There was Olive standing by the pansies. She was in her coat, facing me, giving me the funniest look.”

“Was she scared?” 

“No. She was confused.” 

“Did you see your vehicle?” Hotch asked. 

“I saw it turning the far corner, headed towards the William and Mary campus. I thought at first it was some dumb college kid, pulling a stupid prank.” 

“Odd,” Hotch murmured. 

“What’s odd?” Sharp asked him. 

“Why head into the congestion of the campus? Worse, towards historical Williamsburg, Jamestown, and Yorktown? Why steal a car so far away from the metro DC area in order to carry out these attacks? It doesn’t make sense,” Hotch complained. 

“Olive wasn’t scared?” Sharp asked the Prices.

“No.”

“No?”

“No. She was perfectly calm, in fact. Bill carried her back inside the house. We called the police,” Elizabeth said. “We filled out a report. We didn’t think about it until the FBI agents contacted us about the theft.”

“What do you do for a living, Mrs. Price, if you don’t mind me asking?” Sharp questioned. 

“I teach maritime law at William and Mary. Olive goes to work with me. She’s in the campus daycare when I’m busy, during my classes and daytime office hours. We thought she wasn’t scared because it was some geeky college kid who stole the car. The daycare is staffed by college kids. Her babysitter is one of my former students.” 

“Why are you frowning?” Sharp asked Hotch. 

“I can’t shake the feeling the Prices weren’t selected at random,” Hotch explained. Elizabeth looked pale and shaky, while Bill turned red with bubbling fury. 

“You think this guy knows us?” Bill hissed. 

“I do. He must. Of all the cars he could steal to carry this out, he steals yours. There has to be a reason,” Hotch decided. 

“I’d like to talk to Olive now,” Dr. Sharp said. “We’ll leave the door open. You three, stay here.” 

Dr. Sharp entered his office, and went first to his desk, opened a bottom drawer, and fumbled around. He made sure he had Olive and Jack’s attentions before he ducked dramatically down behind his desk. Jack leaned up as far as he could to see where Dr. Sharp had gone. Olive actually stood up and peered over the top of his desk at him. 

The doctor reappeared, adjusting the long purple plume on his bright yellow hat. Jack grinned, and Olive blinked at him. 

“What is that?” Olive asked. 

“This is my silly hat,” Dr. Sharp announced. 

“Okay,” she said skeptically. 

“It is my lucky hat too.” 

“Why?” Olive asked. 

“I was wearing this hat when I met my wife.” 

“Does she like silly hats?” Olive asked. 

“Yes.” 

“Can I wear your hat?” Olive asked. 

“If you like,” Dr. Sharp answered. He took off the plumed hat and offered it to her. Olive took the hat, put it on her head, and adjusted it using her reflection of the large windows in Dr. Sharp’s office. “Jack, would you like a silly hat too?” Sharp asked. 

“Um…..no thanks,” Jack frowned. “Dr. Sharp, why were you wearing a silly hat when you met Mrs. Sharp?” Jack wanted to know. Hotch wondered if he should motion for Jack to leave Dr. Sharp’s office, in order to let the doctor talk to Olive alone. Dr. Sharp seemed to want Jack to stay, though maybe because he was making Olive feel at ease. 

“I met Mrs. Sharp at a Renaissance Faire. Do you know what those are?” Sharp replied. 

“I do! Everyone plays dress up!” Olive exclaimed happily. “We went to one! It was fun!”

“It was years ago when I met Mrs. Sharp. We were both very young then. I was twenty. She was twenty. I was wearing a silly hat. She was wearing a silly hat. I knew right then and there that we would be very best friends,” Dr. Sharp said. “Did you have fun when you went to the faire, Olive?” 

“Yes. It was so much fun! There were princesses, and kings, and knights, and scoundrels.” 

“What’s a scoundrel?” Dr. Sharp asked. 

“It’s a bad man in black clothes who teases princesses.” 

“Bad men don’t always wear black,” Jack warned. 

“Olive, tell me about your doll,” the doctor requested.

“Can I keep the hat?” Olive asked, tentatively coming back to the front of Dr. Sharp’s desk. 

“You can wear it while you are here, but you may not keep it forever.”

“Because it’s your lucky hat?”

“And my favorite hat. And my wife likes it,” Dr. Sharp explained. Jack stood up and came over to the desk too, turning around one of the picture frames. 

“That’s Mrs. Sharp,” Jack explained to Olive. The little girl peered at the picture, and smiled. 

“She’s pretty.” 

“Olive, who is this?” Dr. Sharp asked, indicating her doll. 

“It’s Daddy.” 

“Can you tell me who your other dolls are?” Dr. Sharp asked. Olive ran back, picked up several dolls, and brought them over. She pushed the papers on his desk to the side, and lined the dolls up. 

“This is Daddy. This is Mommy. This is Grandma Olive. I’m named after her. This is Grandpa Herbie. He drives big trucks.” 

“Diesels?”

“No. He builds roads. He drives trucks with metal teeth and claws and scoops.” 

“Highways?” Dr. Sharp asked. He glanced up to the doorway, where Mrs. Price was smiling brightly with tears in her eyes. “What does your Grandma Olive do?”

“She’s the best looking gal in all of Nashville,” Olive said. “That’s what Grandpa Herbie always says. Then he gives her a smooch.” Olive touched those two dolls together as if they were kissing. 

“What is Grandma Olive wearing?” Sharp asked. 

“Her work coat. She’s a vet. She makes horses feel better. Cows too. Cats. Dogs. But she’s not the same kind of vet that Daddy is.” 

“Who is this?” 

“That’s me.” 

“And this?” 

“Daddy’s friend.” 

“What’s his name?” 

“Eddie.” 

Bill Price’s brow furrowed with confusion. 

“I don’t know anybody named Eddie,” Bill protested. Dr. Sharp must have heard him. He held up the doll so that Hotch and the Prices could get a good look at him. He was white, dressed in blue jeans, a baggy sweatshirt, and sneakers. 

“Is this what Eddie looks like?” Dr. Sharp asked Olive. 

“Tall, but not as tall as Daddy, and he doesn’t wear a suit like Daddy does.” 

“How do you know he’s a friend of your daddy?” the doctor asked Olive. 

“Eddie knew my name. He said, ‘Hi. You must be Olive. Your daddy told me all about you’.”

“What else did he say?” Dr. Sharp asked. 

“That I should zip up my coat. I can’t do it by myself. So he did it for me. He put on my hat, and picked me up, and put me down again. He smelled like face-splash.”

“What is face-splash?” Dr. Sharp asked. 

“After you shave,” Olive explained, patting her cheeks. Jack nodded. Dr. Sharp wrinkled his brow and glanced at the doorway.

“What else did he say?” Sharp wondered. “How do you know his name?”

“I asked him. I said, ‘What’s your name?’ He said, ‘I’m Eddie’. He said to be a good girl, and wait right there where I was for my Daddy. Stay back from the car. I did what Eddie said. I waited right there.”

“Just like that?” Dr. Sharp asked. 

“Yes,” Olive replied. “He got in Daddy’s car. I waved bye.” 

“You waved? Did he wave back?” Dr. Sharp wondered. 

“He smiled at me, but he kept both hands on the wheel. Mommy said you have to do that. I bet his mommy told him to do that.” 

“I don’t know any Eddie,” Bill Price reiterated when Hotch and Elizabeth both stared at him expectantly. 

“No one through work? No one in the neighborhood? Church? Social clubs? Coffee shop? Favorite restaurant?” Hotch whispered. Bill kept shaking his head no. 

“I’m telling you. I don’t any Eddie.” 

“But he knew Olive,” Elizabeth stressed. “You told him about Olive.” 

“Does she have any teachers or friends whose parents are named Ed or Edward or Eddie that you can think of offhand?” Hotch pressed. 

“I don’t know any,” Bill repeated stubbornly. 

“Olive, did Eddie tell you why he wanted Daddy’s car?” Sharp asked. 

“It had to go to the shop,” Olive said. 

“Eddie was going to fix it?” 

“He said it needed to go to the shop because one of the back lights was out,” Olive repeated, shrugging her shoulders. 

“I don’t know any Eddie,” Bill repeated plaintively. 

“I’m going to give you a physical description of our suspect, and I need you to tell me if it reminds you of anyone you know from your military units,” Hotch replied. 

“I’ll do anything to help,” Bill Price promised. 

“He knew about your daughter. He knew her name. Did you ever speak to your unit about your daughter? Did anyone take a special interest when you spoke about her?” Hotch asked. “Maybe he had children, or maybe he lost children? This guy relates to something about you, Mr. Price.”

“We didn’t have Olive yet when I was stationed overseas. We were trying to conceive, catch as catch can, when I was on leave back home, when Lizzie could fly over and meet me somewhere safe. I talked about when we had a daughter, we were going to name her Olive, because Lizzie’s mother was the person who introduced us to each other, and how I was going to be the best father ever, if only I got the chance.”

“So this guy was in your unit. He had to be. He knew you before you had children, but he knew that you and your wife were trying to conceive, and that you would name your daughter Olive,” Hotch nodded. “That’s why he didn’t hurt Olive that evening when he stole your car. He knew how much she means to you and your wife. He couldn’t take her away from you, didn’t want to devastate you that way. Mr. Price, I’m positive you know this guy. Think. That’s all I’m asking.”


	21. Eureka

21- Eureka (Nov 27 – 12:30 a.m.)

 

“Edward Trovinger,” Hotch announced, handing Morgan a picture. They bounced around in their seats as Aaron took a corner too sharply. The picture he had handed Morgan showed a unit of soldiers in desert uniforms, smiling at the camera. 

“How did you know?” Garcia gasped from the phone that Morgan was holding up, speaking on. “I literally called you the second my computer spit out his name from the fingerprint searches. The military literally just now found him in their systems. How did you scoop me, Bossman?” 

“I spent four hours with Bill Price, combing through every photograph of every unit configuration that he served with during his tours of duty. Edward Trovinger served with Bill Price in Iraq but he didn’t re-up after his second tour was finished. The Army was threatening to ship him out again anyway, so he vanished. That was the last anyone from the unit heard about him,” Hotch reported. 

“So who is this guy?” Morgan asked, picking Trovinger out of the rear row in the photo. “I thought Reid expected this guy had to be Navy, since he was hugging the East Coast, and he had been in Odessa, which is also a water city.” 

“Profiling isn’t an exact science,” Hotch shrugged. “Maybe he likes ships. Maybe he likes water. Maybe he hid out in Odessa while he was on the run.”

“Sir, I’ve pulled up Trovinger’s military record. Do you want to go over the details, or do you want me to email them to you?”

“Brief overview, but send the full details,” Hotch replied, taking another corner. 

"He served for two tours, like you said, with nothing outstanding making it into his record, aside from one incident in Najaf. The bomb squad unit had been called to the location where an IED had taken out part of a British convoy, and while they were on scene, a second device was detonated, killing one of the members of the squad. The prevailing thought was that the first device was used to draw the bomb squad to the scene, in order to take out the emergency responders with the second device.”

“We’ve seen that before,” Morgan interjected sadly. 

“Too many times,” Hotch nodded. 

“What else does his file say?” Morgan asked. 

“After the incident in Najaf, Trovinger was shaken up. His commanding officer gave him two weeks leave to pull himself together. He didn’t come back until after three weeks. Reason being, he had attempted suicide and needed another week to recover. He served the rest of his second tour without further incident, and vanished before he could be sent back for a third tour,” Penelope reported. 

“Garcia, contact Prentiss and ask if she could run Trovinger’s description through Interpol,” Hotch requested. 

“Yes, sir. I’m on it. Don’t worry. We’re going to find this guy,” Garcia said. 

“The rest of the team should be back in town tonight,” Morgan said. 

“Rossi called a couple minutes ago. They’re at Dulles,” Garcia reported. 

“We should all reconvene at work and start scanning the video surveillance,” Hotch said. 

“Rossi said they obtained witness statements that can put our unsub at several of the post office locations,” Garcia added. “JJ said they have kinds of video footage of Agent Davies and Edward Trovinger at Union Station, from November 23rd.” 

“That’s great news! She was alive as of the 23rd! Did you call Schultz?” Morgan asked. 

“He and his team are supposed to meet us at Quantico in the morning,” Hotch said. “We’re going to put this all together and….” 

Aaron glanced down at this jacket pocket as his cell phone rang. He reached for it, only to be scolded by an unlikely source. 

“DAD! Hands on the wheel!” Jack called out from the backseat. Morgan reached across and patted his way inside Hotch’s coat in search of the ringing phone. 

“I thought you were sleeping,” Hotch called out to Jack. 

“Are we going to get the bad guy now?” Jack asked, bouncing excitedly in his carseat. 

“Hello?” Morgan answered Hotch’s phone. “Schultz? You’re where? What? Are you serious?!”

He fumbled along the dashboard, and the lights and sirens came on. Hotch took the hint and sped up. 

“We’re on our way!” Derek shouted, hanging up Hotch’s phone and putting his own phone back to his ear. “Baby Girl! I gotta let you go.”

“Wait!! Garcia?!” Hotch called out.

“Yes, sir?”

“Search for any criminal offenses, school records, travel records, passport hits, everything you can find on Trovinger. I want a timeline of where this guy has been and what he’s been doing, so we have an idea of where he might be hiding himself, and where he might run to if we get too close.” 

“Yes, sir. I’m already on it!”

Morgan disconnected their call, and put away his own phone and Hotch’s phone in the same pocket. 

“We’re needed at the hospital now,” Morgan insisted. “It’s Agent Davies.”

* * *

“How did she get here?” Hotch whispered to the head nurse at the station outside Reid’s hospital room.

“She came up the elevator about half an hour ago. Walked right into Dr. Reid’s room,” the head nurse reported. 

Morgan, Hotch, and Schultz were standing in the hallway outside the nurses’ station, staring into Dr. Reid’s hospital room. Dr. Lind and Agent Aguilar were also there. Jack was holding Hotch’s hand, peering into the room too. Captain Spaulding was sitting in one of the chairs beside the bed. Davies was sitting in the other. 

“Have you talked to her?” Hotch asked. 

“No,” Schultz said. 

“Have you approached her?” Morgan asked. 

“No,” Schultz replied. 

“Why not?” Hotch’s voice rose. Spaulding glanced up, and spotted Hotch. She reached over and patted Davies on the shoulder, and carefully got out of her chair, edging her way to the door. When she stepped out of the room, the semi-circle of federal agents pounced on her. 

“Keep your distance,” Spaulding said, pointing backwards. “You need to give her a few minutes to pull herself together. She hasn’t stopped shaking since she sat down. She will talk to Hotch. Only to Hotch. The rest of you, stay where you are.”

“Is Papa okay?” Jack asked Aaron fearfully. Spaulding came towards them, and took Jack’s hand, hoping to block his view of Reid in his hospital bed. He peered around her on one side, then the other. 

“Let’s you and me wait over here, okay, buddy?” she suggested, hugging him up against her side. Jack obeyed. Spaulding led Jack away, painfully aware that the little boy couldn’t tear his eyes off of Reid. 

Hotch entered the hospital room slowly and carefully. His first fear was if Reid was okay. He flew to the side of the bed and scanned Spencer over, reaching down to touch his hand, comforted by the warmth that he felt. 

His second fear was that Agent Davies was injured. Once he was certain Reid was unharmed, Hotch scanned over Davies’ physical form to quickly assess her condition. Davies’ short hair was wet but tidy. She was wearing clothes that were obviously new and not her own – a baggy sweatshirt and a pair of stiff jeans. She was barefooted. She met Hotch’s searching eyes very reluctantly. Her face was haggard and guilt-ridden. She wasn’t physically injured, not where he could tell, but emotionally, she was barely hanging in there. 

“Agent Davies,” he nodded to her. 

“Sir,” she nodded back. 

“Are you armed, Agent Davies?” 

“No, sir. I’m unarmed.”

“Did he rig you with a bomb, Agent Davies?” Hotch worried, glancing at the heavy sweatshirt she was wearing. 

“No, sir,” she answered, lifting her sweatshirt up far enough to show bare skin before lowering it once more. 

“How did you get here?” 

“He dropped me off.” 

“Where is he, Agent Davies? Where is Trovinger?” 

“Who?” she asked, her weary face full of confusion. 

“The unsub, Davies. The suspect. Where is he?” 

“I don’t know, sir,” she whispered. 

“He held you for this long only to let you go?!” Hotch boomed. He expected Davies to shudder, to cry, to withdraw. She leapt up out of her chair and confronted him, fists bunched tight. 

“I don’t know where he is!” 

“Where did he go, Davies!?” 

“I don’t know! I promised I wouldn’t follow him!” 

“You what?!” Hotch bellowed back at her. 

“We made a deal. I gave him my word.” Davies pushed away her tears and stopped yelling. She dropped her voice and backed away from Hotch, which in turn made him calm down somewhat. 

“You don’t make deals, Davies. You never make deals.” 

“There was no other choice.”

“What did you promise him, Davies?”

“I can’t help you find him. I gave him my word.”

“I don’t care what you promised him!” Hotch was brewing up for another room-shaking shout.

“If I break my word, he’ll kill Dr. Reid,” Davies whimpered. “I thought you of all people would understand. I made a deal to save Dr. Reid,” she added as she sank back down in her chair and covered her face with her hands. 

Hotch stopped. He held his breath. Behind him, the beeping noises from the machines attached to Reid were rising and falling at a different pace. Aaron glanced at the nurses’ station outside. The head nurse bustled around the counter and came to the door of the room. 

“Stop shouting. He can hear you, and he’s not happy,” she murmured, stepping away once more. Hotch stared back at Spencer, and bit his mouth closed once more. 

“I’m sorry I yelled at you, Agent Davies,” Aaron murmured once he had control of his temper. 

“Ed was going to finish…. going to finish…..what he started,” Davies couldn’t get the words out. She motioned towards Reid, lying in the hospital bed, and stared back at Hotch. 

“Trovinger promised not to hurt Reid if you let him walk away?” Hotch questioned. 

“Yes,” Davies squeaked, her voice gone, choked away by her tears. 

“Agent Davies, I know you meant well. What you’ve got to understand is that Trovinger will never keep the promise he made to you. No matter how faithfully you keep up your end of the agreement, the minute our guard is down, the minute you least expect him, Trovinger will be back, and he will finish off you and Reid both. He’s a mission-oriented serial killer. They don’t stop until you stop them. They don’t stop until they are dead.”

“I gave him my word if he left Dr. Reid alone, I would not follow him.” 

“The deal wasn’t really about Reid, Davies. It was about you. Trovinger was testing you, trying to decide whether or not to kill you.” 

“He won’t break his promise,” Davies insisted. 

“You need to be debriefed as soon as you’re up to it, Davies. I suspect you’re in shock, and that you’re feeling out of your depth after what you’ve been through. You did well. You passed the test,” Hotch continued. Davies’ young face fractured with confusion. 

“What test?” 

“Trovinger let you live because you were willing to make a deal for Reid’s life. If you had refused, Trovinger would have killed you on the spot.” 

“Hotch?” Morgan called from the doorway. He waited in the hall. Hotch stared Davies up and down. She stared back at Reid in the hospital bed, and blinked quietly in confusion and fear. 

“What is it?” Hotch whispered to Morgan as he stepped to the doorway. 

“The hospital has footage from the emergency room entrance. Trovinger pulled up in a four-door car, a Honda. He helped Davies out of the vehicle. He sat down with her on a bench outside of the emergency entrance. They spoke for a moment or two. He got back in the car. He drove away calmly and quietly,” Morgan explained, keeping his voice low. “She waited on the bench for almost four minutes before she came inside.” 

“Did we get a plate number?” Hotch asked hopefully. 

“Yes. Virginia plates. We’re running them now.” 

“Get her to talk to us, Hotch,” Schultz pleaded. “We need to debrief her as soon as possible, learn as much as we can learn about this guy. Maybe we can figure out where he’s headed.” 

“Do you really believe he would have killed her if she hadn’t made the deal for Reid’s life?” Morgan asked, watching as Schultz and his team members edged closer to the open door, like wolves circling a lamb. Davies paced back and forth beside the bed, watching the monitors, watching Reid. She dried her face and then crossed her arms over her chest. She patently ignored Schultz and his salivating team members. 

“Yes. I have no doubt,” Aaron murmured.


	22. Living On A Prayer

22 - Living on a Prayer (Nov 27 – 8:00 a.m.)

 

“I wish we could do this by ourselves,” Rossi whined to Morgan.

“I trust Schultz. He’s young, but he’s got good instincts,” Derek answered. 

“She’s a kid,” Rossi whispered. He offered Morgan a cup of coffee. It was eight in the morning, and everyone was back at Quantico except Hotch. Most of the combined teams were scanning video surveillance footage, splicing everything together with Garcia’s help. Schultz, Morgan, Rossi, and Dr. Lind were debriefing Agent April Davies. 

Morgan accepted the mug of coffee from Rossi, sipping tentatively at the evil brew. The quality of the java around the BAU had definitely not been the same since Reid had transferred to Cryptology. Morgan sighed and sucked more of the nasty stuff down anyway. 

“Did you know that Davies and Fletcher are the same age? They were even in the same graduating class,” Morgan said. 

Rossi almost smiled at the comment. “Why didn’t he mention that before?”

“He never noticed her.” 

“Davies is lucky to be alive. I don’t know why Hotch is taking such a hard-ass approach with her. She did what she thought she had to do to save Reid’s life, and to save her own. It’s a miracle she’s even alive,” Rossi said. 

“Any chance of getting Hotch to come in?” Morgan asked. 

“He hasn’t moved an inch from Reid’s side all night,” Rossi moaned. “He’s convinced that this deal Davies made is only a postponement. Trovinger is not going to stop. The only way this is going to end is with incarceration or death.” 

“I disagree. I think Trovinger might be redeemable. He could have put a bullet in Davies, but he didn’t,” Morgan reminded him. “He could have hurt Olive, but he didn’t. He could have hurt Jack, but he didn’t.”

“Not yet,” Rossi frowned. 

“We need Hotch here,” Morgan frowned back. 

“You and I both know that Hotch is not going to leave Reid’s side until Trovinger is in custody, and that’s all there is to say on the matter,” Rossi replied. 

“It’s about Foyet, isn’t it?” Morgan asked. 

“Trust me, Morgan. If you have any sense, you won’t breathe that name near Hotch.” 

“I feel for him, man. He’s reliving his worst nightmare, and he’s determined it’s not going to end the same way again.” 

“He’s being too hard on Davies. There’s no reason to take this out on her.” 

“I agree. Yesterday he was all about supportive of her, but now he’s angry with her. He needs to be more understanding. Davies is an federal agent, but she’s not a field agent. She hasn’t spent years and years chasing serial killers, looking at decaying body parts, breathing in the stench of death, facing pure evil every day of the week. She’s more comfortable with facts and figures. She’s more comfortable with books. That’s why she chose the department that she chose, until Rabovsky got her transferred to work with Reid. Davies is like Reid, you know? That’s why they get along so well. Davies did what she had to do to save her friend. I’m good with that.”

“I’m with you, Morgan, but from Hotch’s point of view, Davies had a wanted fugitive in her custody, and she let him drive away.” 

“She didn’t have anyone in custody. This man, he took her from her home, and he kept her hostage for a week. She didn’t know from one minute to the next if he might kill her, or rape her, or put a bullet in her head.” 

“She said he never hurt her. He never hurt her. Not once.” 

“Not physically, no. But Trovinger threatened to kill someone she cares about, so she made a deal to let Trovinger walk away if he promised he wouldn’t hurt Reid. Tell me you wouldn’t have done the same thing in her shoes.” 

“You’re preaching to the choir. I had this very same conversation this morning with Hotch at the hospital.” 

“And?”

“This was the exact point in our discussion where he took a swing at me.” 

“Hotch has never dealt with his emotions over the Foyet situation. He’s got all these unresolved feelings about how Haley was killed, all this guilt about how he let her down, and to have this all rise up at him again, to have someone threatening Reid this way? It’s messing with his head, Rossi.” 

“You know it. I know it. Aaron knows it too, down inside.” 

“Maybe I should go talk to him,” Morgan decided. 

Rossi stopped, put a hand on Morgan’s shoulder, and shook his head. 

“Let’s concentrate on what’s going on here for the moment. Take him some good news and it might calm him down.”

* * *

“Tell me about your grandmother,” Dr. Lind murmured into the silence in the interrogation room. Agent Davies had been staring off into blank space, but she turned her eyes to face the older woman, and narrowed them slightly. It didn’t sit well with her, being treated like the enemy. It didn’t sit well at all.

"Why do you want to know about my granny?” Davies asked. 

“Your cross. She gave it to you. You must have been very dear to her. Tell me about her.”

“It’s not complicated. She liked me because I’m her grandchild.” 

“She could have given the cross to your sister. Why did she give it to you?” Lind continued. 

“I don’t know where you’re going with this, but I’m not going to break my word. I’m not going to help you find Trovinger,” Davies repeated softly. 

“I’m not asking you about Trovinger. I’m asking about your grandmother. What was she like?”

“She was quiet. She liked books.”

“Was she adventurous?” 

“She might have been when she was younger, but not when I knew her. She suffered from agoraphobia after she got car-jacked a few years ago. The agoraphobia got worse as she got older. Jo and I would go to the store for her, go spend time with her. She didn’t leave her house the last five years of her life.” 

“Jo is your sister?”

“Yeah. Joanna.”

“You said your grandmother liked books. Did she read to you and your sister when you were small?”

“Yes. That’s why Jo became a writer.” 

“She was religious?” 

“My grandmother? Very.” 

“She gave you her cross.” 

“Yes.” 

“Is it valuable?” 

“No. It’s sentimental. Her mother gave it to her, and she gave it to me.” 

“Because you are religious?” 

“Not especially.”

“I don’t mean to pry. Your religious beliefs are of course your own private business. Did your grandmother give it to you in hopes you would become more religious?” 

“Giving me her cross was her way of putting her stamp on me, however well-meaning her intention was.”

“What do you mean?”

“Her mother gave it to her to protect her. Granny always believed it saved her life. Giving the cross to me was her way of protecting me.”

“Go on.” 

“Granny survived the London Blitz during World War II. She was twelve when it happened. Her sister and her brother were both killed in November 1940. Her mother was killed in January 1941. Her father never came back – he was an RAF pilot who was shot down over Europe. They never found his body. Granny was the only survivor. She went to live with an aunt who was very religious. My grandmother was greatly affected by all that had happened. She always believed her mother’s cross saved her life. Her aunt reinforced that belief to the point of superstition.” 

“So your grandmother gave you the cross because she wanted to protect you?” 

“Yes.”

“Do you believe it protected you?” Lind asked. 

Davies shook her head no. 

“I don’t know. Granny is the reason I joined the FBI. Did you know that?” she said, a brief smile flittering across her worried face. 

“Why?” Dr. Lind wondered. 

“Granny worked with MI6 before she met my grandfather.” 

Dr. Lind lowered her pen and stared skeptically at Davies. The younger agent laughed nervously, and dried her face. 

“I know. No one ever believes it. My dad always said she was making it up, telling tall tales to me and Jo. My mom said if she did work for MI6, she was only a secretary, that’s all, like that was something to be ashamed of. Granny would smile to herself when they didn’t believe her. The truth is, no one would ever have looked at her and thought she would have amounted to much, because she was so quiet and mousy. Everyone underestimated her. I take after her, and I think that’s why she was always encouraging me. She did work with MI6 though. I did some digging to find out. I saw her badge and her credentials. Found a few pictures too. She was a doll back then. Honest to God, she worked with British Intelligence during the Cold War.”

“Was she a field agent? Did she like her job?” 

“She liked her job very much, but I don’t know if she ever worked in the field. Maybe she was a secretary, but that doesn’t make her work any less important.” 

“Why did she give it up?”

“She accomplished the goal her aunt had set for her. She met a nice man, got married, got pregnant, and came to the States.”

Lind looked sideways at Schultz, who raised his eyebrows at her. He tapped his pen on his page and rubbed his ear. He didn’t have any idea where Lind was going with this, but he wasn’t about to stop her, because she had gotten Davies talking, at least. 

“Granny would have liked Ed,” Davies offered. 

“Why do you say that?” Dr. Lind asked. 

“He’s polite, soft-spoken, religious. He loves kids. Granny would have probably pointed him out, and told me what a nice man he was. That was always her goal for me too – to find a nice man.”

“She would have approved of Ed?” 

“Yes,” Davies nodded. 

“What about Petru? Would she have liked him?”

Sadness washed over April’s face, and a hard mask fell into place. 

“I’d rather not talk about Mr. Vasilescu, if you don’t mind.”

“Do you want to take a break for a while?” Dr. Lind asked. “Let’s take a break,” she murmured, rising up from her chair and stretching. She gave Schultz a meaningful glance and quietly left the interrogation room. Clearly he was meant to follow her out. 

“Can I bring you anything?” Schultz asked Davies. 

“No. When can I leave?” 

“Any time you want. You aren’t under arrest.” 

“How is Dr. Reid doing? How is Bernie Rabovsky? No one has told me anything.” 

“Rabovsky is recovering, but it will take time.”

“How is her daughter?” 

“She’s fine,” Schultz whispered. “Her husband is with them.”

“So he is real?” 

“Was there any doubt?” 

“Dr. Reid and I debated about it once. It’s not important. What about Dr. Reid? Any change this morning? How is he?” 

“No news. Agent Hotchner is hovering at his bedside. If there’s any change, he’ll let us know.”

“Do you believe Trovinger will keep his promise to me?” Davies asked. Schultz gathered up his notes, folding them into his attaché. 

“Agent Hotchner doesn’t think so.” 

“What do you think, sir?”

“Hotch has been doing this job longer than the both of us. He has very good instincts and years of practical field experience dealing with criminals like Edward Trovinger.” 

“You think I’m a fool for keeping my promise,” Davies decided sadly. 

“You’re not a fool, Agent Davies. You’re in shock. You’ve been through more in one week than most people have been through in one lifetime. You’ve got Stockholm Syndrome – when a captive develops an emotional empathy with the plight of their kidnapper. Maybe if you take some time and come to terms with what’s happened to you, this will sort itself out.”

“The Brass isn’t going to reinstate me unless I cooperate with your investigation, are they?” Davies worried. 

“I honestly don’t know. You’ll have to take that up with your own supervisor.”

“When she’s out of the hospital, I will,” Davies whispered. 

“Agent, take some time. Get some rest. Get some therapy. Clear your head.”

“I didn’t sign up for this shit,” Davies commented, a hint of anger in her voice. 

“What did you sign up for?” Schultz asked. 

“I don’t know, but it certainly wasn’t so I could get kidnapped at gunpoint by some desperate, lunatic psychopath. Then to have my own agency treat me like I’m the enemy?” 

“Technically, Trovinger is more of a sociopath than a psychopath.”

“Potato, potahto,” Davies snorted. 

“No, there is a distinct difference.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” she sighed. “That will be my first and last field excursion. Not my cup of tea.” 

“Davies, some people join the FBI because they crave danger and adventure and excitement. It’s clear you aren’t one of those people. You don’t have to apologize if you’re not up to the rough stuff.”

“ ‘They also serve who only stand and wait’,” April whispered. 

“John Milton. Yes. I know the sonnet.”

“I serve in my own way with my own abilities,” Davies added. 

“I understand,” Schultz insisted. 

“Do you? Or are you like the other agents who look at me and wonder why I can’t be comfortable with a gun, why I can’t be more of a gung-ho ass-kicker? That’s not who I am, Agent Schultz. I understand there are situations where deadly force is necessary, but I’m not capable of taking someone’s life. It’s wrong to kill. It’s wrong, and I couldn’t do it.”

“I understand. Not everyone is cut out for field work. You joined the FBI because you want to be useful. In your heart of hearts, April Davies, what you want the most is to feel that you have a purpose. You want to be helpful. You want to save lives. Maybe if you keep your promise, you will save Dr. Reid’s life. Part of you also hopes that keeping your promise will save Edward Trovinger’s life too. That makes me believe you found something in him that convinced you he wasn’t all bad. He’s crazy. He’s delusional. He needs help.”

“He’s not a bad man. He needs help. I mean, I saw how kind he could be. He needs help. That’s what it is. He needs help dealing with everything that happened to him, and I think if someone reached out to him……” Davies let her voice trail off. 

“He needed you very much, didn’t he? You gave him focus, you gave him direction. You wrapped that package for him – the box he sent to the Prices with all the items from their car. It was your idea to send those things back, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Did you convince him to repay them for stealing their car?”

“Yes. He wanted so badly to make amends for what he had done.”

“Why did he take Bill Price’s car in the first place?” 

“They served together. He liked Price. He was jealous of him too. I don’t know why. It was one of those coded interactions that’s programmed into male DNA, the ways you interact with one another without getting too close or being too overfriendly. I guess from Trovinger’s point of view, Sergeant Price has everything he wishes he had,” Davies said, pausing to think about it. Schultz shrugged one shoulder and shook his head. April was narrowing her eyes, running over thoughts in her mind. 

“The same way I’m jealous of my brother, the stock broker who drives a flashy Ferrari. I don’t really want a Ferrari – it wouldn’t be practical for a man with a family and kids. But every time I see it in his driveway, I wanna slip inside, take it around the block, see what it feels like,” Schultz said. 

“I guess,” Davies agreed. 

“You spent the last few days discovering minute cracks in Trovinger’s armor. I understand that right now, it makes you feel wrong to betray those weaknesses to us, because you aren’t the sort of person who can betray someone after they’ve been kind to you.”

“I gave my word,” Davies shook her head. “He didn’t hurt me, and he won’t hurt Dr. Reid. I believe him. He promised.”

“I understand. Trovinger was kind to you, and so you are returning the favor by being kind to him, by giving him a chance to get away. There’s nothing wrong with that. He said if you would let him go, he would let Dr. Reid live. It’s a win-win situation for you.”

“Win-win?” 

“Reid lives and Trovinger lives. At least for now.” 

“But you think I’m lying to myself by believing Trovinger, don’t you?”

“No. I can see that you are holding on to the only ray of hope there is in all of this. I don’t blame you one bit for what you’re doing. Maybe if I were in your shoes, I’d make the same decision. I’d make the same deal.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Davies decided. 

“Like I said, take some time to think about it. Give Trovinger some time to think too. Maybe he’ll reconsider, and turn himself in before it’s too late. The whole situation with Bill Price? I bet he was hoping to reach out to Price, hoping Price would tell him what he should do, where he should go, maybe help him turn himself in. Maybe Trovinger is hoping you will turn him in because he can’t bring himself to do it on his own. I don’t know.”

“He said I was a messenger,” Davies whispered softly. 

“Maybe that does mean that Trovinger wants to be stopped.”

“Maybe,” April finally agreed. 

“After you’ve had some time to think about this, if you decide you do want to talk to me, you can call me, and we can talk.” 

Schultz pulled a business card out of his attaché and put it gently into April’s hand.


	23. Wait and Hope

23 - Wait and Hope (Nov 27 – 3 p.m.)

 

“That’s where we’re at,” Rossi reported to Hotch. “Sorry it isn't better news. Davies isn’t going to break her promise, at least not yet. Schultz did a great job of leaving that door open to her if she changes her mind. There’s been no sign of Ed Trovinger since the footage from the hospital last night. It’s like he dropped off the face of the Earth.”

“Keep me posted then,” Hotch murmured. “He’s going to surface sooner or later. In the meantime, tell Garcia to keep digging. I want a complete dossier as soon as possible. We’re going to find the bastard before he decides to come back.”

“We’ll continue digging into his past for clues, and scanning video footage from the post offices and the surrounding businesses, because that’s all we have to go on right now,” Rossi replied. “You know, Aaron. Not every case is solved in an hour, a day, a week. Sometimes it can take years to find a resolution.” 

“I know. Call me if you find anything,” Hotch said, then hung up the phone. 

Someone standing at the hospital room door cleared their throat softly. Hotch glanced that direction. It was the nurse from the nurses’ station. 

“Mr. Hotchner? I’m sorry to intrude.” 

“What is it?” Hotch asked, doing his best to hold his annoyance down. He was irritated that he couldn’t have one private moment alone with Reid in this place. 

“Dr. Rhodes wanted me to remind you to watch Spencer for signs.” 

“What kind of signs?” Hotch asked, shivering. 

“Now that the medical coma has been lifted, Spencer should begin to react to outside stimuli. Sounds. Touches. Voices. He might even open his eyes, but he won’t be cognizant. At first it will be like a waking dream. I don’t know what you’ve seen in the movies or on tv, but people don’t bounce out of comas like a jack-in-the-box. It isn’t all at once, and it isn’t right away. It takes time to come back from this kind of trauma.”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“We simply don’t know how Dr. Reid will respond because everyone responds differently.” 

“I understand.” 

“So if you see any response from him, hit the call button, and we’ll be right here. We’ll chart his progress. It’ll be gradual, but you’ll be able to see that he’s slowly coming around.” 

“Thank you,” Hotch whispered. 

“He’s there, Mr. Hotchner. He’s right there with you. The trick is to make sure he knows you’re there too.” 

The nurse smiled and went back to her station. Aaron sat up on the edge of his chair, and studied the several paperback novels and hardbound books that were stacked on the table beside the bed. He thumbed through them, frowned at the strangers and stragglers that had crept in without his notice, and selected a nice, medium-sized volume. 

“Twelve books down. Twenty-five thousand, six hundred to go, give or take,” he whispered, opening the front cover. “ ‘Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy’? Was this from Korsakova?” he mused to himself. He reached down and squeezed Reid’s hand. 

Reid squeezed back. Spencer’s fingers distinctly and surely responded to the press of Aaron’s hand into his own. 

Hotch was so startled that he snatched his hand away, and dropped the book on the floor. He exclaimed loudly enough that the nurse at the station looked up at him. He collected himself, stood up, and loomed over Spencer. 

R.E.M. – rapid eye movement. Hotch watched Reid’s closed eyes, watched the covered orbs drift side to side and back again. Reid’s breathing hitched, paused, resumed. The nurse waved to Hotch, and Hotch waved back. She picked up her clipboard and bustled over. Gingerly, Hotch picked up Reid’s hand again, petting it, caressing it. 

There was no response this time. Fear set in next, gnawing, nagging fear. Had Aaron imagined what he thought he had felt? Was he so desperate for a sign that he let his hopes get ahead of reality?

“Reid?” Hotch whimpered, crumbling down into the chair. 

The machines kept beeping. The ventilator was breathing. The IV was dripping. But there was no answer. The R.E.M. movement stopped as well. 

Aaron stood up and rubbed his nose against Spencer’s nose. 

“I won’t leave you, Baby,” Hotch promised. “Don’t you leave me,” he begged.


	24. Epilogue - Heartbeat

Epilogue - Heartbeat (Dec 19 – 6:30 p.m.) 

 

Annoying, non-stop, high-pitched beeping worked its way down into Spencer Reid’s brain. He didn’t remember setting the alarm last night – that was weird. The sound was getting closer to him, intruding into his sleep, dissipating his dreams. He was so tired, and so sore, and thought maybe the hangover pounding in his skull was a result of drinking that second slug of brandy last night while waiting by the phone for Aaron’s call. 

Reid stretched an arm to the side of the bed to find the alarm so he could silence it, but it wasn’t there. Several objects shifted under his touch, but they felt more like falling books than clocks. Had Hotch moved the alarm? Had he put it under the bed or across the room so Spencer had to get up and shut it off? Man, that was cruel, but it was very effective. Reid had to give Hotch credit for that. 

No matter how tired he was, Reid couldn’t lie there forever like this, letting the damned clock beep like that. This was Wednesday morning. He had to get up. He needed to get Jack to school for the last day before Thanksgiving Break. Reid had to get to work himself, but he needed to take out the turkey before he left this morning. The bird needed to thaw today so he could cook it tomorrow. 

He shuddered at the thought of what tomorrow was going to bring. Spencer hoped that Hotch would be home from the case in Minnesota in time for their special dinner tomorrow. There had been no firm answer from Korsakova whether or not she and Mouse and Max would be joining them, (along with Alexei from Annapolis too) but Reid was sure they would be because Yulia had not out-right refused to be there. 

This was going to be an extra special dinner, because not only would the Korsakovi be there, but Spencer had also invited Aunt Jessica and her family, and Jack’s grandparents over as well. This was going to be a Thanksgiving to remember. He hoped he survived it! 

The beeping continued. As Reid rose closer to the surface, he realized there was someone sharing his pillow. That was a very pleasant surprise, because he recognized the curve of the broad jaw, the familiar eagle nose against his cheek, the tease of the warm breath against his neck. Hotch hadn’t said last night that he would be home by morning! Reid’s chest puffed up with happiness. A strong, calloused hand was curled with his own hand, both resting over his heart. Reid stroked the fingers that held his hand, and cleared his throat quietly. 

“Morning?” he murmured in the darkness. The word came out mumbled. His mouth felt dry. His throat was parched. He swallowed loudly. 

Reid’s soft mumble startled the person sharing his pillow. Spencer groaned, turning to nuzzle the nose against his cheek, except that the nose had vanished. A light clicked on somewhere above his head and away to his left. Reid winced and turned from the piercing glare. He wanted to lift his arm to shield his eyes, but it felt like his bones had been replaced by lead. He lifted his hand, but then someone seized it, and kissed it fervently. 

“Reid? REID!? Say something. Please…..”

Aaron’s deep and gentle voice was strained with agony. What the hell was going on? Spencer didn’t have his glasses on or his contacts in. Hotch was a big blur above his head. 

Fingers stroked Reid’s hair. It felt strangely breezy over his scalp, as if someone had peeled a hat off of his head. Spencer knew those hands that were stroking his face now – they had touched him a thousand times before, but never had they conveyed such tenderness, or such a fear of hurting him with only the merest touch. 

“Hotch?” Reid croaked in confusion. Aaron was crying as he bent close and kissed Reid’s forehead. Hot tears fell against Reid’s skin. 

“NURSE!!!” Hotch turned and bellowed. Reid winced visibly, holding the side of his temple. Hotch lifted a hand to slam his fist on the red button on the white wall back and above Spencer’s head. A loud buzzing noise joined the steady beeping all around him. A second set of footsteps entered their personal space. Why was Hotch yelling for a nurse? Reid wondered why they were sleeping in a hospital room.

“Mr. Hotchner,” someone stern scolded Aaron. “You don’t have to pound the call button. All you have to do is touch it.” 

“He’s awake! For real this time! He’s Really Awake! We need Dr. Rhodes!” Hotch babbled. 

A nurse in a blue and white uniform swooped over the bed and shined a penlight in Spencer’s eyes. Reid wailed loudly and pushed the figure away. Hotch was sniffling and beaming brightly. He took Reid’s flailing hands and held them.

“I’ll alert Dr. Rhodes. We’ve got another situation on our hands, and it may take a few minutes to get the doctor to respond. Stop pounding on the call button,” the nurse said before she hurried away. 

The second she was gone, Hotch was leaning over Reid again, nuzzling and kissing him, laughing and crying. He was close enough this time that Spencer could make out his features. Aaron hadn’t shaved in days. He had slept even less. He had dark circles under his eyes. He looked pale and drawn. Hotch stopped kissing Reid’s hands, and dropped several rough, scratchy kisses around his face, his forehead, his neck, his ears. Spencer reached up to stroke Aaron’s haggard face. 

“You okay?” Spencer asked. His voice sounded strange from inside his head. The words were heavy on his tongue. 

No matter. Hotch’s features brightened with irrepressible joy. He snorted a damp laugh and fought for emotional control. It took him several seconds to pull himself together. He brushed a palm against his eyes. He glanced back towards the window-wall of the hospital room. Nurses were running back and forth around the ward. Alarms were going off outside as well as inside. Another patient was in distress – most of the nurses were headed into a different room. Just their luck that someone else needed attention too at this moment in time. 

The moment wasn’t going entirely unnoticed though. Morgan was standing there at the window-wall, and he was holding Jack against one hip. Jack had his small face pressed directly against the glass, and he was beaming an ear-to-ear smile. Derek and Jack must have heard the nurse paging Dr. Rhodes over the hospital intercom. 

Jack was shouting, “THE MAGIC KISS, DADDY! IT WORKED!”

Hotch’s son was cheering loudly, and Morgan was blinking back tears. Jack’s cryptic words and Morgan’s emotional expression made Hotch tear up again. He was struggling between laughing and crying. 

“Kiss?” Reid asked. He fought with the word, forced it out. 

“It’s nothing,” Hotch laughed boyishly through his pain. 

Spencer scowled, and put both arms back behind himself in order to pull his frame upright. The machines around the bed moved like a semi-circle of guards looming in. Hotch steadied the machine that was about to fall on them. Reid put his left leg forward to sit up, and nearly slipped over the side of the bed. Hotch gasped and prevented his fall, holding him close.

“Take it easy. Whoa. Whoa,” Hotch cautioned. 

Reid looked down at his emaciated body, swathed in blankets. His limbs were stiff, and his butt and hips were so sore. His left shoulder felt as brittle as glass. There was an IV needle in his left hand, and a heart monitor cord clipped on his middle finger. There were other monitor cords on his chest, going under his gown through the shirt sleeve. 

“You need to take it easy,” Hotch admonished gently as he propped pillows up behind Reid.

“What. The. Fuck?” Spencer wondered, staring at himself, and the array of monitors again. 

Jack was jiggling the door handle, but Morgan was holding him back, murmuring to him. Jack nodded to whatever Morgan had said, and put his face back to the window.

“I’ll explain everything. But you need to lie still,” Hotch insisted. 

“Why?” Reid asked, feeling his blood running cold in his veins. Words were definitely a struggle. Hotch saw him fighting, and could not mask the concern on his face. 

“Don’t worry. Everything will be all right,” Hotch responded timidly. He wished he had sounded more sure of himself. Reid wasn’t stupid. He had heard the fear and the doubt in Aaron’s voice. 

Reid narrowed his eyes and shook his head. “Need. To. Get. Out,” he insisted. 

“Relax, Spencer,” Hotch soothed, petting him lovingly. 

“Dinner,” Reid mumbled slowly. “Turkey.” 

“Turkey?” Hotch questioned. 

“Turkey,” Reid replied, nodding.

“Thanksgiving?” Hotch asked. Reid was nodding more emphatically. Hotch took a deep breath, gauging the younger man for several seconds. He gently kissed Reid’s hands, and murmured, “Spencer? This is December 19th.”

Reid froze, his astonished eyes centering on Aaron’s serious face. Hotch couldn’t prove it, but he could have sworn that he heard the heart monitor skipping wildly for a second or two before returning to its normal, easy cadence.

**Author's Note:**

> Song quoted in 1 is Paula Abdul "My Love Is For Real".


End file.
